


Betty and the Bat

by Piper



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman Begins (2005), Dark Knight (2008), Dark Knight Rises (2012), Ugly Betty
Genre: Complete, Crossover, F/M, Gen, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-16
Updated: 2010-10-17
Packaged: 2017-10-12 17:50:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 35,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/127465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piper/pseuds/Piper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of season one of <em>Ugly Betty</em>, Betty finds herself in need of a new boss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_"…and she should be someone trustworthy, you know. Someone who, after a time, would be considered so."_

"Of course, sir. Trustworthy."

Ah, but trustworthy was such a hard adjective to match to any one person, or so Mr. Alfred Pennyworth was discovering. And then to be so trustworthy, but also possess the skills one would need as secretary for the head of a billion dollar firm? It was asking something near impossible. Such a person likely existed in the known world, but it was looking as if they had not been recommended for this job. A shame, really, and he was wondering if perhaps Master Wayne should have been more liberal with his advertising. Not that, of course, he wanted any bum on the street walking into the interview, but perhaps 'by recommendation only' had been a bit stringent.

Even with the stringent rules for application, Alfred had seen a good fifteen people so far that day. But with only twenty five people on the list he'd seen over half of the applicants and that was slightly worrying. The interviews had not lasted long, the longest going for thirty minutes at which point he'd thought that progress was being made. It came crashing down around him when after she made mention of some less than professional behavior. While Alfred was glad she admitted to such things before they'd gone and hired her, he also wished the interview time hadn't been wasted.

He'd taken a break after that particular failure to have lunch and the interviews resumed thereafter with person number seventeen (for person number sixteen's son had decided to become sick at school, forcing her to leave).

He called down to the front desk, asking that the next applicant, a Miss. Betty Suarez, be sent up. If he noted the slight note of shock in the receptionist's voice when she said that the young lady was on her way, he did not make mention of it. Instead he stood behind the desk and waited for the door of the office to open.

It did, eventually, and Alfred straightened (not that he ever truly slouched) as he prepared to greet the latest young woman to cross the threshold. She did not, though, immediately cross through the door, nor did it open completely.

Alfred was admittedly surprised when the door opened only a smidge and a bushy haired girl poked her head in. Her eyes scanned the room once, resting on Alfred. She seemed to blush when she found his gaze resting back on her.

"I'm sorry!" she exclaimed quickly. "I-I was looking for a Mr. Wayne, b-but I must have the wrong room. Sorry. Do you know where the main office is? I think I must have gotten the floor wrong, this was the only office here."

"Miss. Suarez?" Alfred asked, holding back a slight chuckle. "If you're here to interview for Mr. Wayne, then you're in the right place. Please, have a seat."

The girl blinked, her mouth forming a small **o** before she straightened and hurried into the office.

Betty Suarez was immediately unlike any of the others interviewed that day, and this before the interview had even started. Her lumpy sweater vest stood out immediately, more so because it clashed horribly with collared blouse she was wearing underneath. She wore a black skirt, opaque pantyhose, and black heels which had obviously been made for comfort and not style. When she smiled Alfred caught glimpse of pink and purple braces. She was not, perhaps, as… _polished_ , as the other applicants that day, though her resume and recommendations were just as impressive.

"I'm Alfred Pennyworth, Mr. Wayne's butler." He reached across the desk as she approached to shake her hand. She was obviously nervous, but her handshake was still firm. A good sign. "He appologises for not being here to interview you himself and hopes that you don't mind me doing the honors."

"Oh, no, that's fine. That's how it happened at Meade too," Betty answered quickly as she lowered herself into the leather chair placed in front of the desk. Alfred could tell she was trying not to glance around the entirety of the room. Others hadn't bothered to hide their sweeps of the room. It was a opulent office and Alfred couldn't blame people for being shocked, especially when they were told that this was only the secretary's office. Bruce Wayne's lay through the double doors behind and to the side of the desk.

She placed her purse in her lap and folded her hands over it while Alfred picked up her resume which was now at the top of the time. She'd mentioned Meade and indeed, there it was at the top of her job listing. It was, actually, her only job listing. Secretary and personal assistant to Daniel Meade, heir to the Meade Publications empire (well, half an heir at this point, he supposed, with his brother returning from the dead) and former chief editor of Mode Magazine, their most profitable book.

Copies of her recommendations lay underneath the resume and Alfred looked through those again as well, though he'd already read them quite thoroughly beforehand. "You were greatly loved at Meade, Miss. Suarez. Is there a reason you're searching for a new position?"

It might have been his imagination but a fleeting look of shock seemed to pass over Betty's face before she answered the question. "It's… a little complicated. Did you hear about the accident?" she asked hesitantly, only going on when Alfred had nodded that yes, he had. He was rather sure that everyone in the world had heard the news coming from New York of late. That the breaks had gone out in the car driven by Alexis Meade as she rushed her brother Daniel to the hospital and as result they'd slammed into a railing on the curvy Sawmill Parkway.

There'd been little left of the car and neither Alexis nor Daniel had come out of the accident in good shape. Both were recovering, but they were in no condition to run a magazine and as such their father, Bradford Meade, had handed the reigns over to his new fiancé, Wilhelmina Slater.

Alfred knew all of this, not because it had been covered nonstop by every news station in existence, but because Bruce had known both Daniel and Alex in his earlier years and there'd been a passing sadness in his eyes when he'd heard the news of the accident.

"Wilhelmina, er, Ms. Slater, let me go when she was made editor-in-chief. Even though Daniel's going to come back," Betty said. Her last sentence was as despondent as it was hopeful. The Meade siblings still had a ways to go, recovery-wise. "I'm not sure Ms. Slater liked me very much, so… but, I was going to stay on with Daniel while he was getting better, but he said he didn't want to hold me back from new job opportunities. And, well, to be honest, I didn't actually apply for this job and I think he might have recommended me without saying anything. I wasn't expecting to be called in for an interview."

That explained a good deal of the nerves, Alfred thought. They had only just called to set up the interviews for all applicants three days ago. He tapped the resume underneath his fingertips. "I don't know, it looks as if Ms. Slater has written you a glowing recommendation. As has Bradford Meade. I believe there's one from Sofia Reyes here as well. Daniel phoned his in, which is fine given the circumstances of his condition."

"I- Really?" The girl had looked surprised enough with the mention of 'Ms. Slater' and 'glowing recommendation' in the same sentence. The other names seemed to leave her speechless for a moment before it all sunk in and suddenly she was smiling, not as nervously, and sitting up a bit straighter in the chair. "Oh, wow."

"Ms. Slater claims to have let you loose only because she knew that this job was opening up and thought you would be perfect for it, though Mr. Meade makes it clear that he instructed Ms. Slater to let you go only if she absolutely had to, and only with the best of references," Alfred said as if the news was just everyday information. From the look on Betty's face he could tell that it was certainly unexpected. "He apparently greatly appreciates everything you did for his son; says that you were quite loyal to Daniel during your tenure at Mode."

"Daniel was a good frien- a good boss," Betty said, covering her slip with a bright, professional smile. "And with all that was going on at Mode I couldn't afford for him not to be able to trust me and didn't want him not to trust me. We had a pretty honest relationship, I thought. He trusted me to organize his schedule every day, to get everything done, and to keep things quiet that needed to be kept quiet."

In other words, she was loyal and she could keep a secret. Trustworthy, perhaps? It wasn't a trait that all of the other interviews had lacked, per se, but some of them Alfred had simply disliked. Despite the fact that Miss. Suarez was obviously trying to put her most professional foot forward for the sake of this interview, Alfred suspected that there was a very friendly and open girl underneath. There had to be by the sounds of the recommendations in his hands. He approved, so far, more than he had of the others.

"That was your job, then?" he asked. The opportunity to elaborate on her former duties was clear.

"Essentially," she nodded. "I went over his schedule with him daily, made sure that he got to those appointments, answered his phone, and showed his guests into his office. M-making sure he gets through the day… there wasn't much more than that."

Wasn't there, though? Alfred thought so. There was much written in those letters which seemed to indicate the exact opposite. A word Miss. Reyes and the younger Mr. Meade had used to often in their descriptions of the girl; _loyal_.

Alfred smiled. "I believe Mr. Wayne will want to meet with you."

"He—he will?" Betty asked. The dear in headlights look was becoming very at home on her face.

"At your earliest convenience, of course. Does tomorrow afternoon work?"

It seemed at this point all that the young woman could do was nod, but that was fine enough for Alfred. She wasn't traditionally tough, this one, obviously easily startled and taken by surprise, but Alfred found that he liked her. There weren't many people in Gotham City like Betty Suarez. Not many who could actually be described as decent and trustworthy people. Many came into Gotham looking just like her, shocked and wideeyed at everything around them, even if they were from a city like New York. People adapted differently. Eventually they all lost their looks of wonder as they looked upon Gotham's old stylized opulent society and criminal world, but where some grew thick skins and simply stopped caring about those around them, there were others who became used to the world, but they didn't stop trying to help.

This girl was one of those. Alfred stood from behind the desk, reaching out to shake Betty's hand once more. Her shake was firm, as it had been the first time, though he could tell that she was still nervous. Her eyes said everything and she was plainly shocked that she'd been hired.

' _The first in a series of many…_ ' Alfred thought to himself as he showed Betty Suarez to the door. There was something he liked about this one. Trustworthy _and_ loyal. He would go with his instinct on this one and hope that Bruce was about to be in very good hands.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce vaguely wonders why his new assistant seems so nervous.

Skittish.

That seemed to be the first word that came to mind when Bruce paused for a moment to really look at his new assistant. Maybe that view of her was enhanced by her appearance —she was maybe a bit mousey— but he couldn't help but think it to be true. The girl looked like she would bolt at the first sign of trouble. Self-preservation, it wasn't necessarily a bad trait to have, but it was interesting to watch at play in such innocent surroundings. She was obviously nervous.

She was Betty Suarez, his new assistant from New York. It was a job many had coveted and that Betty had picked up with surprising ease. Alfred, the only one he really trusted with these sorts of things, had raved over the girl (as much as Alfred allowed himself to 'rave' over anything) and so Bruce had hired her with not a second thought.

He was wondering now, just a curious nudging in the back of his brain, exactly what Alfred had seen in her during that interview. It wasn't that he didn't like her. No, she just seemed… skittish.

Yes, he thought as Betty jumped, startled in her chair when he opened the door to his office. Definitely skittish.

"Good Morning, Mr. Wayne," Betty said, knuckles white on her desk.

"You can call me Bruce."

She nodded. "Right, Bruce. Sorry." It looked as if she'd calmed. Just a bit, but it was a start. Her hands crept away from the edges of the desk, moving back to more natural positions on the keyboard and small computer mouse. He preferred that.

"It's alright." He waved his hand dismissively and glanced down at her screen. "What do I have for today?"

She took barely a breath before launching into a list which Bruce was both surprised and impressed to see she had absolutely memorized. "At nine thirty you have breakfast with Mr. Gordon. Then at eleven you have a meeting with the trustees and from there you're going to lunch with Mr. Fox. At two fifteen you're touring the factory you just acquired and you _have_ to remember to ask about hours for the workers because they're already threatening to strike if you don't take interest because the _last_ owner didn't take enough interest. Of course, you have to adhere to their meanings of 'taking interest'. After—yes?" She stopped herself, looking back at Bruce. "Did I miss something? I'm sorry—" He'd been staring and rather intently.

Quickly, Bruce shook his head, holding up his hand in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. "No, that all sounds fine. You can keep going."

"Alright…" she said slowly, and he felt bad; obviously he'd interrupted a well memorized speech and the flow of her words. It took her a moment to regain her place and Bruce could see her working through the schedule in her mind. "Three thirty, you're coming back here, and by that time I'll have a pile of papers that need your signature by five. You should be done with that by four ten and then you've going to New York for the evening. Alfred added that for you this morning."

A nod. "He told me. I was hoping you'd accompany us for that."

"Oh no, that's alright. I've already got my ticket home and everything." Betty was blushing as she spoke, obviously having interpreted the offer the wrong way. "The MTA gets a little crazy every time it rains, but I think it should have stopped by the time I leave and, you know, that's plenty of time for them to pump all of the sewage out."

He'd let her continue, mostly out of politeness, though he wasn't particularly planning on letting her so easily stick to her plans. "We're going to see Daniel. In the hospital."

"Oh." Betty's ever-fluttering hand stopped suddenly, hovering over the keyboard that sat in front of her. She seemed at a loss for words and he, perhaps, felt mildly guilty, again, for springing the news on her as suddenly as he had. He watched her for a moment as her mouth moved, obviously trying to think of something to say but no sound coming out. "Oh. Well… I wouldn't want to intrude. And there's the visiting limit. I went over to see him the other day with Christina and Amanda and they said only one at a time, so Christina and I had to wait in the waiting room and Amanda took up all the time doing God knows what in there, but by the time she came out we'd left because— oh God. Stopping now."

She talked a lot. It wasn't necessary to be the world's best detective to notice it. Bruce had seen it the first day when the girl had been setting up her desk. One question driven by mild curiosity and overt politeness about a picture on her desk had garnered a near ten minute explanation on her family and a story about her nephews exploits at breakfast that morning. It wasn't a trait Bruce particularly cared for in most women, but for some reason it had neglected to annoy him when it came to Betty.

He rarely stopped her, knowing that eventually she would stop herself, and tended to actually listen to what she had to say. He recognized the familiar blush on her face which tended to follow these 'outbursts' and while he knew she was usually embarrassed in the end, those few moments of completely unhindered and less _skittish_ speech were valued.

"You wouldn't be intruding," Bruce finally said after giving Betty a moment to regain her composure. "And if he wasn't able to see you before, I'm sure he'd appreciate it now. I insist and besides… I'll feel better knowing that you're getting back to New York safely."

"I— okay. If you really don't mind. I guess I haven't really gotten to say hello in awhile…" she trailed off, quickly looking back down at the desk, perhaps trying to hide the pleased smile on her lips.

Bruce nodded. "That's settled then. What time did you say Alfred wanted us ready by? He remembered of course, but it was the appropriate question to ask in order to avoid an awkwardly silent exit.

"Four ten," Betty answered, Bruce noted, without having to glance back at the computer screen.

"And I have… Lucius for breakfast?" He remembered this as well.

"Er, no, James Gordon. Nine thirty." Her answer was just as quick as the last had been and Bruce gave a small smile.

 _I'm not testing her, not really…_ he assured himself quickly. "Thank you, Betty. I'll see you at four ten."

"Have a good breakfast," she offered with a new sunnier smile. She was able to catch his eye for the briefest of moments as he turned to walk back into his office. "And, Mr. Way—Bruce, thank you. For, you know, Daniel… and letting me come. Thanks."

Given the speed with which she ducked her head back down towards her work, Bruce wasn't sure whether she caught the nod he passed in her direction. Either way it was alright, he supposed. Their conversation was over and both parties were satisfied. She would be able to see Daniel and her safety was one less thing that he would worry over. Despite what she may have thought, her assurances of, "oh don't worry about me. I take the subway all the time in New York and the people down there can be pretty sketchy," really did nothing to ease his nerves.

There was sketchy… and then there was Gotham. He wasn't quite sure that she understood that yet. Until he was and she did, he planned to keep an eye on his new assistant. She was skittish, yes, yet far too caviler for her own good (or his liking). To be fair, she wasn't aware of the full scope of the job she'd signed up for, nor would she be for quite some time. But until it came time for the big reveal (if it ever happened), he intended to keep her safe.

Bruce stepped into his office, glancing out once more before he closed the door behind him. He would have to remember to thank Alfred once again that evening. Even if the girl did startle easily, his judgment in this matter, as always, had been impeccable.


	3. Betty and the Bat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betty plays hostess to Lex Luthor's [bodyguard](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mercy_Graves) while Lex is in a meeting with Bruce. The two do not get along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the third part in a rather unusual crossover which takes place after Season one of Ugly Betty and the end of Batman Begins; it's AU from there. You can read parts 1 [here](http://community.livejournal.com/uglybettyfic/57399.html) and 2 [here](http://community.livejournal.com/uglybettyfic/57903.html).

Mercy Graves reminded Betty of Amanda, except Betty suspected that Amanda actually had a soul.

Betty wasn't sure what Mercy had, but she was guessing that is was less 'pure immortal soul' and more computer chips and circuitry. Did human beings have eyes that blue or the ability to stand that unnaturally straight and still? Admittedly, Betty knew that the answer to the first question was yes, but circuitry and computer chips could still explain number two, and Betty was nearly sure that's what it was.

She would have much preferred to have Amanda sneering at her. At least Amanda's bark was worse than her bite. Looked as if Mercy Grave's bark _was_ her bite and that was a bit worrying. Her distasteful looks down her nose to Betty were much harder than the ones Amanda had ever managed to muster up, and Mercy didn't have an excitable, if not loveable, well dressed queer boy toy to temper her. At least Betty didn't think Lex Luthor was an excitable, well dressed, queer boy toy. Well dressed, yes, but not gay (as far as she knew), and no one's toy. He seemed a bit too arrogant for that title.

Yet for some reason the comparisons to Amanda kept flying into Betty's head. Despite Mercy's resemblance in temper to the catty Mode receptionist, Betty was still on her best behavior.

"Would you like a cookie?" she offered. The plate of chocolate chip cookies on her desk were from home; a cooking experiment by her nephew, Justin, that had turned out surprisingly well. Even Alfred had complimented them earlier that morning when he'd stepped in briefly with Bruce. It hadn't seemed like he was trying to be polite, which was sometimes the case as Alfred was not one for rudeness.

Betty held the plate out to Mercy Graves, knowing that if she was anything like the girls at Mode it would be another, 'well, more for me' moment of rejection. "They're homemade."

Mercy said nothing, nor did she seem to give two shakes about the offer. Betty placed the plate back on her desk and pushed her glasses upon her nose. "Okay, well, feel free to have a seat like I said. And, oh, I have a diet coke if you'd like one." She paused a moment and frowned. "Or diet sprite. Either way, it's diet." Not that she was insinuating anything. Betty realized what her statements sounded like and blushed thoroughly, but didn't open her mouth to apologise once she saw the look on Mercy's face.

Mercy the Murderess had a nice ring to it. The woman really did look like she could knock a quarterback out with a spoon if she put enough effort into it.

"No." Betty jumped in surprise when Mercy actually opened her mouth and words came out. Words that sounded decidedly human and feminine. Betty glanced at Mercy curiously, but did not make her observations known. That couldn't have ended well.

Mercy's glare continued to be stony and as she reached for one of her nephew's creations, Betty found herself missing the (ridiculing) company of Amanda and Mark.

The two women sat in silence for nearly a quarter of an hour, though it was no fault of Betty's. Once it became clear that Mercy did not desire to engage in small talk the younger girl simple stopped trying and turned back to her computer screen all the while praying that something to keep her busy would magically appear. She clicked open her mail account, but found it devoid of anything besides junk mail and a few things which she needed to talk directly to Bruce about, and of course, she couldn't very well do that while he was meeting with Mercy's boss. Betty left the box open a few more second as she munched on her cookie, hoping that a piece of mail would ding in. That the phone would ring. Anything to interrupt the tension Mercy was laying thickly throughout the room. It was like she'd infected her own little corner of the room and was trying to slowly infect everyone else, Betty thought bitterly.

She considered it something of a blessing when the ornate wooden door to Bruce's office opened and both he and Mr. Luthor emerged. Betty wasn't sure if either of them looked particularly happy, but was distracted from that thought when Mercy moved from her little corner. She did it in such a way that made Betty flinch and her heart rate increase by a good three beats per second. She was more convinced now, upon seeing her move, that the woman was likely one of those secret super soldiers the government would never admit to having. And that was only _if_ she was human in the first place.

Mercy moved to Mr. Luthor's side like a cat to milk. Upon second examination Betty decided that Lex Luthor had no similarities to Mark whatsoever. Luthor was well dressed yes, but he lacked that certain flamboyant flare which Mark pulled off so wonderfully. She found herself missing that, not to mention his smug , self-satisfied smirk (which Mr. Luthor had as well, but again it was missing Mark's touch). It was odd, really, for Betty to realize how much she thought about her friends (or acquaintances, as they were) from Mode. It wasn't that she felt there had to be comparisons between everyone she'd met in Gotham and those she'd met in New York, she just couldn't help making them. Perhaps it was just her way of coping with the way things had turned out.

Alfred, for instance, had become someone akin to Christina, Wilhelmina's seamstress, always there for a kind word and pleasing to the ear with what Betty considered an awesome accent. Betty didn't think that Alfred knocked them back after hours like Christina did, and she couldn't talk to him about the men in her life (nil, at this point) but when it came to friends at work, Betty took what she could get.

This wasn't to say that her new boss wasn't friendly. Bruce was, in his own way. Betty had no complaints. He'd warmed to her good deal faster than Daniel had (not that that was a slight against Daniel, but it had probably helped that Bruce hadn't been hoping to sleep with her before he'd even met her) and honestly he seemed to be a decent human being… in the few ways that young male billionaires could be. Still, the man asked after her family each day and had remembered the names of her father, sister, and nephew from day one, so he was good in Betty's books. He didn't remind her of anyone from Mode, Bruce. He was little like Daniel, Alexis, Wilhelmina, or Bradford. The only similarity Betty could see between her old boss and her one were their playboy ways. But even in that, Bruce seemed to be a bit… subtler. Betty didn't worry for Bruce the way she had Daniel. Granted, she'd only been at WayneTech a few months yet, but she just didn't see herself needing to worry for him, and it wasn't because she didn't care.

"Betty?"

Forced out of her thoughts by Bruce's voice, Betty started and glanced up from her computer screen, it appeared that she ad opened the date planner but couldn't remember what for. She adjusted her glasses and pushed hair from her face as she looked at Bruce. "I'm sorry, what date was that?" she asked hurriedly.

From aside Lex, Mercy smirked.

"December 18th. Lex's gala for the orphanage."

"December 18th, 2007?" She asked, aware of how ridiculous the question might have sounded, but you never knew with these people. These things were sometimes scheduled years in advance.

Mercy smirked again from her place beside Lex. Betty kept herself from sighing.

Bruce nodded shortly. "2007."

"Right." Betty said quickly. She looked back at the screen and began typing. She could feel Mercy's taunting eyes on her as she worked and was only too glad when Bruce walked back over towards Lex and began leading both him and Mercy –thank God—towards the door.

"I look forward to it," Bruce was saying as he shook Lex's hand.

Lex simply nodded. "Of course," he said, the chip of entitlement obviously very heavy upon his shoulders. "Come along, Mercy."

Betty had never been more glad to see two people leave a room. But she refrained from voicing that opinion as well, even though as soon as the door closed behind them she felt as if breathing miraculously became easier.

"So he talked you into going?" Betty asked, looking up at her boss.

"In a manner of speaking—may I?" When she nodded Bruce took one of the cookies from her desk. At least _some_ people appreciated good food. "Do you have a ball gown?"

Betty could tell from the look on Bruce's face that he was very much not surprised when she shook her head, indicating the negative. The same answer would have given anyone at Mode a heart attack. "Do I… need one?"

"The gala is a black tie event." He made it sound like such an everyday thing. "So you'll need a ball gown."

"I will?" One didn't have to listen closely to hear the note of 'please, God, let him be joking' manifest in her voice.

Bruce nodded. "You can consider it a company expense." He paused, a half smile touching his lips. "You've got nearly six months. Isn't that how long is usually takes women?"

Well, Betty had to admit, he did have a point. That was six months to find a dress, cut back on carbs, join a gym, force her hair to grow in gorgeous flowing layers, stop biting her nails, get a pedicure, tweeze her—

Six months to buy a dress. She had to stop there before the hyperventilating started.

That was much less dizzying. Not to mention plausible. But even with things seeming plausible there was still a matter she couldn't figure. "Rachel isn't able to go?" Betty asked.

"You mean, why do I want you to go?"

Ah, obviously not as subtle as she'd thought. Betty found herself blushing. "That too, yes."

Bruce chuckled and Betty was reminded that even the smallest of laughs could sound a bit odd coming from the lips of Bruce Wayne. She had the feeling he didn't do it much at all. "I thought maybe you'd have fun." When he chuckled again she could only assume the look on her face hadn't yet turned from absolute horror.

"Truth be told, I need you there in a more official capacity," he said finally and Betty relaxed a bit. Official she could do. There was no problem with official. She'd still have to find a dress, but official meant less awkward small talk with people she didn't know and didn't care to know her. She was awkward enough on her own, thanks. "We'll talk details once the date becomes closer."

"Alright," Betty said; she was already typing notes for herself to that she wouldn't forget. "Anything else?"

"Not at the moment." Bruce neatly sidestepped the chair sitting next to her desk on the way back to his office, grabbing another of her nephew's creations as he did. He paused only as the cookie was on its way towards his lips. "Actually, put in a call to the Daily Planet. Please."

She nodded, reaching for the phone. "The Metropolis offices? Who do you want?"

"Clark Kent and I'll take it in my office," he said. With that and a short nod of thanks, Bruce disappeared behind his office doors. Betty's outer quarters fell suddenly silent beside the occasional 'whrr' from her computer.

Betty found that, for the moment anyway, this was how she preferred it.


	4. Betty and the Bat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betty describes her night's adventures to an old friend.

  
It was Christina who had suggested the dark, hipster bar for their get together that evening, and even though it wasn't really her type of place Betty had agreed. She was tired of the strange looks and Wilhelmina's glares when she went to meet her friend at Mode and neither of them wanted to suggest their own homes. "Too messy," they'd both said in unison when the thought crossed their minds. Of course, by too messy Betty had meant 'too filled with nosy family members'. She just assumed that Christina had actually meant messy. Either way, the two ended up in a booth in DTUT on second and eighty-fourth one Friday night eager to unwind and talk.

Betty did her best to keep in touch with Christina. She'd left Mode nearly a month ago and had seen her friend only four times since then; just once a week. Fridays at different restaurants and bars around the city, it had become their thing and she was increasingly thankful for it. It wasn't that she was unhappy working for Bruce Wayne. No, quite the contrary, she was well paid for almost the same job she'd been doing for Daniel and everyone was _nice_ to her. Betty didn't consider herself a superficial person by any means and she'd deeply valued Christina's friendship at Mode, but it was nice to have some respect for a change.

 _Even if that respect is only for eight to ten hours a day,_ she thought to herself, sighing softly as the girl in the coat check window gave her tattered hooded poncho a startled and slightly horrified look. Betty had given it the same horrified look earlier that evening, though for a different reason. She'd been staring at the brand new knife slashes in the fabric.

"I was mugged!" Betty said to Christina, sliding into the booth the older woman had saved. "I got mugged on the way home."

A shot of something brown and alcoholic was inches from Christina's lips, but Betty found it underneath her nose almost as soon as she'd spoken. "Here." Christina nudged the glass with her knuckle. "Sounds like you need it more than I do. What happened?"

"I'm from New York. I've _never_ been mugged. Then I get mugged in Gotham? How is that fair?" Betty took the glass from Christina and downed it in an uncharacteristically quick fashion. Her face twisted almost immediately. "What was that?"

"Best that you don't know. Are you alright?"

"I think I've lost my sense of taste. And smell." She coughed and licked her lips, trying to get the taste out of her mouth.

Christina shook her head. "That's not what I meant. That stuff won't kill you, a mugger might try to."

"Oh right." Betty watched as Christina signaled for two more of the brown drinks, taking the pause to figure out how she was supposed to explain this one. It wasn't that the mugging itself had been anything spectacular – or at least she didn't think it had been, granted she didn't have any other muggings to compare it to – it was how she'd gotten out of it that held any interest whatsoever.

She was just worried that that part of the story was going to make her sound as insane as the people in the Enquirer, the Examiner, and the Whisper. Given the amount of time she and Christina had put into laughing at the stories in those 'papers', Betty wasn't exactly eager to share her own Enquirer-like experience. "Well… you know that, um – that bat-guy? I think he saved my life. Well, not exactly my life. More like my purse, but still, there was saving involved."

"You mean the giant man-bat they keep snapping pictures of for the tabloids?" Christina asked, a wide grin creeping across her lips. Betty could only brace herself for a barrage of teasing. "The one that looked like a homeless man wrapped up in some garbage bags?"

"I think it _was_ a homeless man wrapped up in some garbage bags that one time." Betty remembered that set of pictures and she was still convinced that a photographer had paid the first homeless person he'd found to dress in black garbage bags and look menacing in the dark so that he would have pictures to sell. "But, yeah… I think it was the bat-person. What do they call him again?"

"Batman." Christina passed her another drink. "Are you sure you work in Gotham?" she teased.

"Batman," she repeated, ignoring the jab. "Him. Well, maybe it wasn't _the_ Batman, but it was definitely a guy dressed as a bat. Pointy ears, cape, crazy karate skills, everything. Believe me, I thought I was seeing things at first and it was dark, but it all fits." Christina still looked skeptical as she tossed back another shot. Betty sipped at hers even though she knew one wasn't supposed to sip at a shot.

She was relatively sure of what she'd seen and she considered it a good sign that not even her friend's doubts were changing what she remembered. It had all happened very quickly, she'd easily admit that, and she never was very much on her guard when she left Wayne Enterprises at the same time each evening. Betty was sure to take the same route to the MTA station ever day. Three blocks up and two over from Wayne Enterprises in Gotham. She took the seven forty-five back to New York City everyday and then switched to take the subway home to Queens. It wasn't a horribly interesting commute and maybe that was why she'd let her guard drop after awhile.

Betty hadn't noticed how empty the train platform had been that evening and with her nose in her book she hadn't heard the automated announcement alerting MTA passengers that the train to New York was operating on the track five over from where she'd been sitting. They'd been mistakes on her part and for those mistakes she'd almost lost her purse and most certainly had ruined her favourite poncho. She'd never been mugged before, but she, like all New Yorkers, knew the cardinal rule: hand over your things. Betty had done that, hands shaking, when the two men with knives had demanded it and she'd been prepared to be without a metrocard for the rest of the night.

But just as she'd been wondering whether or not she could convince a cab to take her all the way from Gotham to New York _he_ had fallen from the sky.

"It could have been the shock, you know," Christina was saying, the words pulling Betty back into reality. "Maybe you were just seeing things because you were scared."

"Well it definitely wasn't me who knocked out two _really_ big men, left them bleeding on the ground, _and_ got my purse back," Betty said. She set her shot glass down on the table. "Come on, Christina. You believe in the guy in Metropolis who flies around saving people in his underwear. What's so different?"

"They've got pictures of the 'guy in Metropolis who flies around in his underwear'. And interviews. And video that doesn't look like it was put together in some Myspace kid's basement," Christina answered with a shrug. "His name is Superman, by the way, and he's very handsome."

"You just want to redesign his costume," Betty accused, and she knew it was true. She'd seen the design sketches in the back of her friend's pad. They'd not been as well hidden as the other woman had thought. "And I'm being serious. I know what I saw. I just didn't get a great look – it was all really fast."

"Of course it was." When Betty scowled Christina sighed and reached across to wrap her arm around Betty's shoulder. The scowl fell from her lips when her friend gave her a tight squeeze. "I'm glad you're alright, Betty, Manbat, Batman, your imagination, or however it happened."

 _Batman,_ Betty almost corrected, but she stopped herself as the words were on her lips. "Thanks. Me too, obviously. Whatever it was, it saved my life –"

"Your purse," Christina interjected with a grin.

"My purse," Betty laughed. "He saved my purse and me a two hundred dollar cab ride back from Gotham."

Christina lifted her shot glass. "Cheers to that." She waited for Betty to do the same and once she had, clinked their glasses together before downing the rest of the brown liquid. "Now, come on, tell me all about Bruce Wayne…"

It was possible, a slightly tipsy Betty would realize later on the subway back to Queens, that out of everyone at Mode – Daniel included – it was Christina she missed the most.

* * *


	5. Betty and the Bat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce is late for a meeting and Betty begins to have a mild panic attack. But everything is solved with makeup.

  
Maybe he was more like Daniel than she'd thought (Daniel had done this all the time, and she'd find women's panties in his waist band to boot). Maybe he really was just a playboy millionaire (he had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, never a responsibility in the world). Maybe this was going to be more like Mode than she'd expected (she remembered this feeling, pacing in front of her desk as she fretted about why her boss was late for a meeting scheduled weeks in advance). Maybe she really was going to spend all her time covering for and irresponsible man who couldn't act his age (as much as she loved him, she knew Daniel hadn't even been able to buy his _Christmas_ gifts on his own).

Maybe one bad day out of God knew how many since she'd begun working didn't warrant judging and fretting over Bruce Wayne the way Betty knew she was now.

"I'm sure he's on his way now and I really apologise for the delay. Can I get you anything?"

The question was becoming repetitive and Betty's fingernails were chewed down to the very quick. Instead of biting them she'd started drumming them against her desk top, but because she'd bitten away the nails, the effect was lost. She didn't look or sound impatient and cool. She just looked nervous and worried, which she was.

At Mode, Wilhelmina would have at least jumped at the opportunity to walk in and take over where Daniel had failed by not showing up. She would have swept into the room looking fabulous as always and taken all attention completely away from Betty as she calmed the tempers of whoever Daniel had kept waiting with his lateness and then she likely would have held the meeting herself. There was no Wilhelmina at Wayne Industries and Betty couldn't believe that she was actually _missing_ the woman, even in this context. But the presence of someone older and who knew what to do was sorely missed at this point. Oh yes, there was Lucius Fox and Betty would have happily run off to find him, except he was in a meeting of his own.

"Thirty minutes," one of the suited men muttered, looking down at the very nice watch on his wrist. Betty made every effort in the world to look busy behind her desk, but it was hard. She'd been busy all morning, from the time she'd arrived to the office which was when all of this trouble had started to begin with.

The commute from New York to Gotham was relatively short at only about thirty minutes by train. It meant Betty was able to come in bright an early at eight thirty, though she wasn't really required to be there until nine. She'd always found though, at Mode, that arriving before everyone else allowed for a certain focus that was only achievable when she'd arrived before Amanda was already seated at her reception desk and ready to hurl snide remarks as she walked by. Amazing how much better one's day went when it didn't start with being insulted.

While there was no one hurling insults at her in Gotham, Betty still found that she liked to arrive at least somewhat early. Much to her surprise in the first two weeks, she didn't always arrive before Bruce. She'd been shocked to see him already sitting in his office and working diligently at eight thirty one morning. In turn she'd surprised him the mornings on which she was the first to arrive, having coffee, a bagel, and the three major papers – the Daily Planet, the Gotham Gazette, and the New York Times – sitting on his desk by the time he'd come into the office. It was no less than she'd done for Daniel, but, it seemed, more than Bruce's last assistant had done for him. Alfred had heartily approved, later confiding in Betty that it was, "a chore to convince Master Bruce to eat a proper breakfast in the mornings." Something was better than nothing.

Betty had come to enjoy those early mornings. They weren't anything overly special, but Bruce seemed to know how much she enjoyed articles by a certain Lois Lane and made and effort to discuss them with her each morning. She'd purposely not given away anything about her writing aspirations, wanting to keep that to herself for fear of… well, she wasn't sure what. It just wasn't something she was bringing up.

She'd arrived at work that morning and upon finding that Bruce hadn't arrived yet, had gone on about her normal routine. She'd called down to the front desk to ask for the day's papers to be sent up. Then she'd turned on the coffee maker on the table at the side of the room and left Bruce's mug sitting next to it so she would know where it was when she returned. By the time the papers had been delivered and the coffee was ready nine o' clock had rolled around. Bruce was nowhere to be seen.

She wouldn't have been worried if it had been Daniel. Betty had been used to Daniel being late to… well, almost everything. Bruce, on the other hand, was in the office before her more often than not and Betty was rather sure she could set her watch by him when it came to punctuality. Lateness just wasn't like him, especially when the meeting had been on the schedule for weeks now. With not a call from Alfred or an answer to her calls to the Manor, she was becoming worried.

The tapping of her stubby fingers was interrupted and once more Betty looked up at the sound of an impatient voice. "Miss… Suarez? Are you sure that—"

"I'm going to try calling again _right_ now, but I'm sure his meeting earlier this morning just ran over a little bit," Betty said hastily, reaching over to grab the phone off its cradle. She hurriedly put it to her ear in hopes to cut off anymore comments from the suited men and women waiting in chairs. Her answers hadn't changed any from what they had been ten minutes ago when she'd last asked. There had been no meeting, of course, she just didn't know where Bruce was and it was better than saying _that_. She was sure Bruce would appreciate it, wherever he was.

Betty dialed in the appropriate number and squeezed her eyes shut, taking several deep breaths as the phone began to ring on the other end. Where was Alfred? Alfred always answered the phone. Betty was rather sure that aliens could be attacking the city and Alfred would still be at Wayne Manor, answering the phone, keeping everything calm, and perhaps polishing the silver. If he wasn't picking up then something had to be wrong. She tried the car phone next and then Bruce's cell phone once again. There was nothing.

But then of course – because this was how things worked in her life – just the suited man again cleared his throat impatiently and she began to ponder exactly how fast she would have to run to crash through the glass window and fall to a quick escape, things somehow, miraculously, became better.

"Sorry, I kept you waiting." Betty had never been happier to hear Bruce's voice.

She immediately popped up from behind her desk, nearly knocking over her fun swivel chair. She grabbed her yellow note pad and bolted to stand in front of the door to Bruce's office. It was her own turn to look impatient as she waited for him to stop making apologies to the business men and women he'd left waiting and come talk to _her_.She had an entire day to go over with him, something she was supposed to have done nearly forty minutes ago. Ten minutes before that meeting had been scheduled to happen.

"Bruce?" Her turn to clear her throat as well, it seemed, but it worked. Bruce turned with a nod towards Betty and stepped back from the others. She resisted the urge to give him a look as she opened the door for him.

The thick wooden door clicked shut. "Where _were_ you?" she blurted out, looking him up and down. "And… and why are you _limping_?"

"Limping?" Bruce asked, raising an eyebrow as he walked over to sit behind his own desk. She watched him walk, noticing that now he was trying to hide what she'd noticed before as he'd walked towards her and the office. It was still there, though he was doing a better job of looking completely normal now. Betty scowled.

"Limping," she accused, barely resisting pointing at him. "What happened? Are you alright?"

"Don't worry about it, Betty." Bruce reached for the mug of coffee she'd placed on his desk nearly an hour ago. It was completely cold by this point, but he seemed not to care as he sipped at it. "How long have they been waiting out there?"

"Thirty minutes. I can get you some more coffee if you want? And I've got your schedule here so—" she stopped in the middle of her words, peering down at her boss keenly. "Are you wearing makeup? Oh my God, you're wearing makeup?"

It was an uneven splotch of colour to the side and underneath his right eye that caught her attention. Bruce had perfect skin, Betty had always noticed, much like Daniel. His colouring was perfect, he didn't have blemishes, there were no uncouth scars, he had absolutely no reason to wear makeup. At Mode she wouldn't have asked about it. Everyone at Mode wore makeup, 'guy-liner' was all the rage. Even Daniel with his perfect skin had worn a bit for time to time, but she'd not have said a word. That was Mode, this was Wayne Tech. The men did not wear makeup and the women wore barely more than that. Betty had every reason to cock her head and squint oddly at the obvious cover up job around his eye.

"You're wearing makeup and you're limping," she said again. She set her pad of paper down at the edge of his desk before attempting to peer closer at him. "You're like my nephew, except I'm hoping you weren't taken down by the school bully…" Biting her lip, she stood up straight again and wondered if she could get her hands on some ice.

"You noticed that?" Betty watched as Bruce brought his hand up to feel gently around his eye. It must have been swollen underneath, but her eyes were too distracted by the discolouration the makeup provided with.

She swatted his hand away. "You're making it look worse," she said and it was true. Smudging things around wasn't helping. It just revealed a bit of the purple and blue bruise underneath the makeup. "Is this why you were late? Is _Alfred_ alright?"

"Alfred's fine. Nothing happened," he answered her. His voice sounded completely natural, but for some reason she was reminded of the women who said they'd fallen into doorknobs when really their husbands were beating them every night. "How bad does it look?"

"Like Courtney Love's makeup stylist got a hold of you." His blank reaction at her attempt of a joke reminded her once more that she was no longer at Mode. "Never mind. I can fix it. Except, they're all waiting out there and –"

"They can wait a little longer."

"Right. Um… one second."

On the one hand, this wasn't nearly the oddest thing she'd done during her time as an assistant for either of the two men she'd worked for. Chasing a pair of underwear across the city surely took that prize. But she was about to fix her male boss' makeup and no matter which way one chose to spin that, it was weird. Betty dug around in her purse looking for her small, budget bottle of foundation and grabbed a water bottle from the cooler next to her desk. After reassuring those waiting that Bruce would only be another few moments she dashed back inside the office.

"We should probably keep this between us," Bruce said a few minutes later as Betty used her thumb to rub a mixture of foundation and water over his black eye. She couldn't tell whether he was making a joke or being absolutely serious.

"I won't tell if you won't." She flashed him a sheepish grin before going back to biting her lip in concentration. She was darker than he was and it was a bit of a trick getting the makeup to blend in properly, but Amanda would have been proud. She finally got it to work, all the while wondering why should couldn't do the same great job on her own face. "So are you going to tell me why you're limping and wearing makeup? Or do I get amuse myself while you're in that meeting by making up really cool stories about it in my head."

"I hope you have a good imagination." He smiled at her before standing up. "I'm sorry about this morning."

Betty shrugged and smiled back. She screwed the top back onto the tube of makeup and stuck it into her pocket– she would have to remember to take it out later, because with her luck it would explode in there. "It's your office. You can be as late as you want. I mean, technically you don't have to be here."

He laughed shortly, notable only because Betty didn't often see him laugh. "Even so, it won't happen again, and if it does, I'll at least call or be sure to have Alfred."

She liked that Bruce was as considerate as he was. It was… different, to say the least. "Are you sure you don't want any ice? The accident I'm seeing in my head says you probably need some ice."

"A very over active imagination, obviously," he laughed again to her surprise. "You can let them in now."

Betty did as he asked and she found that she was the one with the last laugh as she listened to him explain his lateness to his guests as a 'spelunking accident'. Betty couldn't help the smothered snickers that slipped from her lips as she settled back in at her desk.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two separate conversations.

  
"You complain too much, Betty," Hilda said, waving her hand in the air and wrinkling her nose at her sister. Both actions caused the two spa workers surrounding her to jump back and then glare at her for interrupting their work. The paint on her nails smudged, rendering at least twenty minutes of work completely useless.

"I wasn't complaining," Betty protested. She winced. " _Ow_!"

"There you go again. Calm down, you're just getting your eyebrows done."

"Yeah, well, it hurts. And it wasn't a complaint. It was an exclamation of pain." And she wasn't complaining now either. Just pouting slightly, and screwing up her face in a way that made the green paste spread above her lower lip and her entire face hit the tip of her nose. She couldn't help when the ticking of the feeling made her sneeze and once again duck her head away from the woman attempting to pluck her eyebrows. The people in this place were never going to let them in again.

Betty reached around blindly for a tissue. They'd made her remove her glasses nearly thirty minutes ago, yet her eyes hadn't entirely adjusted. "And I wasn't complaining before, either. Just stating a fact."

"'My job's not exciting enough'," Hilda mocked in a high pitched voice which sounded nothing like hers, Betty thought.

"That is not what I said," Betty defended herself. "I said it's just… not as busy."

\--

"Tell me, sir, does the clown have the same affinity for boxing gloves that your Arrow friend does?" Alfred asked in his usual subdued tone as he examined a newly formed bruise on his employer's face.

"I wouldn't call him a friend," Bruce muttered, neatly sidestepping Alfred's bandage and gauze toting fingers and walking towards the Cave's main computer. "They weren't boxing gloves. Harley Quinn's taken a liking to giant mallets."

\--

"You complained about Daniel, you complain about Bruce." Hilda rolled her eyes as she shook her head. "You're the only person I know who could be working for _Bruce Wayne_ and have something to complain about."

"I wasn't complaining," Betty said again. "I never complained about Daniel either… well, not much. Not after the first month. It was more about Wilhelmina. And… and Amanda. And Marc. And… okay, everyone else besides Daniel and Christina, but that's not the point. I wasn't complaining this time. I was just saying that compared to Mode, Wayne Tech just isn't as fast paced. There's a lot of downtime while Bruce is in meetings and stuff, because… I don't know, he's pretty capable of taking care of himself. Which is a good thing, and that's why I'm not complaining. He's thirty-five, he shouldn't need me to clean up after him. Not that Daniel needed me to clean up after him…"

Hilda gave her a look that clearly showed a level or two of disbelief. "Uh huh," she said with small smirk. "You miss Mode."

"Of course I miss Mode. It was my first _real_ job and it did end kind of… suddenly. Daniel was the one who gave Bruce my resume; I was going to stay until he got better." Betty looked down at the new red nail polish on her fingers. It looked horribly uncharacteristic, but then, things normally did when she humoured her sister like this.

"You miss _Daniel_ ," Hilda teased softly.

"Not like _that_ ," Betty shot back immediately, her face turning bright red underneath the mask. "I don't miss running around after him at least. That's what I meant… it's not as busy, but it's a good change. I'd rather do Bruce's makeup than buy underwear for Daniel's model girlfriends, as much as I love him."

\--

"Giant mallets indeed, sir," Alfred said dryly, handing Bruce a cold compress and pushing him down onto the medical table with a firm hand. An even firmer look was needed to keep him seated there as Alfred stepped back a moment to retrieve other supplies from the cave's ample medical supply. "I would advise you try avoiding those in the future."

Bruce raised his eyebrow as much as he could with the side of his face being as swollen as it was. "I didn't walk into it." Alfred muttered something underneath his breath, though Bruce chose not to try and decipher it, figuring they would both be better off if he didn't.

"How do you plan on explaining this one away?" Handing the younger man a bandage for his shoulder, Alfred very nearly clucked his tongue. "From what you've said the girl is rather observant. If you don't mind me saying, sir, I do believe when you hired her, the point was to eventually divulge your, _ahem_ , nightly activities."

"Soon, Alfred."

"Of course, sir."

\--

"'Least you're getting paid." Hilda reached over and patted the top of her sister's hand in a mock sympathetic manner. "Don't complain while he's handing you a check. It's a good rule to live by. And don't complain while you're getting paid to do nothing."

"It's not nothing."

"Make up your mind?" She took her hand from Betty's, giving it back to the slightly annoyed looking nail technician. She gave Betty a questioning look. "You like the job, right?"

Betty grinned. "I like my desk. And my new pen cup. Oh, and the coffee maker with the espresso thingie on it. And my office. And the post-it notes." She really did like the post-it notes.

\--

"You have breakfast with the trustees in the morning," Alfred reminded him as he helped wrap the newly dislocated shoulder. He clipped the bandage into place before placing ice atop it. "It was just added to the schedule."

"When?" Bruce jumped down from the bed; all the old butler could do was wince and shake his head. He held the ice to his shoulder as he made his way over to the large computer in the center of the Cave.

"Miss. Suarez," Alfred said, pulling a thin day planner from almost out of nowhere and opening it in his hands. It bloomed in colour in a flurry of pink, blue, and lime green post-it notes sticking out from various dates and pages. Bruce could vaguely make out Betty's loopy handwriting on several of them. "Left these for you. They're the appointments she made after you left early this afternoon."

Frowning slightly, Bruce turned back towards the computer. "I didn't leave that early."

"Regardless, a number of appointments were added to the schedule _after_ you left the office." Alfred walked over to the computer, laying the folder down next to Bruce. He adjusted the icepack on his shoulder. "Appointments which I am sure would not have been made for such an early hour if she'd known that you would be out all night receiving a… mallet to the face. I do think, sir, informing Miss. Suarez would be prudent."

\--

"Maybe it's like one of those pyramid things." Hilda made a triangular shape with her hands. "More you do, the more things you'll get to do. The less boring it'll get."

"My job is not a pyramid scheme." Betty rolled her eyes. "But you're right. I've only been there a few months. Maybe I'm being impatient."

"You're good at what you do, Betty. I really don't think you have anything to worry about." This time Hilda actually did sound sincere and completely serious in her words. She smiled at Betty before actually sitting still and letting the people around her get on with their work.

\--

"Maybe it's… noticeable," Bruce admitted. The light in the manor proper was better than the light down in the cave and the giant bruise around his eye was certainly apparent. The swelling would have gone down slightly by morning and perhaps it could be covered, but he suspected that Betty would still catch glimpse. He, personally, wanted to avoid another cosmetic session taking place in his office.

"Indeed, sir," the slightly sarcastic tone touched Alfred's voice again. "Shall I make arrangements for a dinner for you and Miss Suarez here at the manor? Perhaps something casual in order to break the news?"

Turning from the mirror Bruce nodded towards Alfred before making his way to the stairs. "That would probably be best."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations.

"Oh my God."

They were absolutely the only words Betty could force out of her mouth as the black car pulled up in front of what she had always jokingly called 'Stately Wayne Manor'. Stately, she decided very quickly, didn't even begin to cover it. She probably wouldn't ever call it 'stately' again. Maybe… 'palace-like'. It didn't have the same ring to it, to be honest, but it was way more apt of a term, in her opinion. Somehow it just hadn't looked so _huge_ in the pictures. Of course she'd know that it was going to be impressive –anything that could call itself a manor would be – but this place looked like it probably had _stables_. And maybe a twenty car garage. Not to mention acres and acres of land for things like… fox hunting. Yes, fox hunting.

Did they even do that anymore?

"Hm?"

Betty dragged her eyes away from the car window and tried to reign in the look of shock, awe, and 'I have never seen a house this big in my entire life' off of her face before faced Bruce. "Um. Nothing. You, uh... you have a lovely home." She said, blinking madly.

The car came to a smooth stop in front of the manor's front steps. Betty gulped slightly; the place looked intimidating both intimidating and foreboding. "You really live here by yourself?"

"It's been in the family for generations." She took that as a yes.

"I'd feel kind of lonely…"

Bruce raised an eyebrow as he looked over at her. "You have my schedule memorized, how much time do you think I spend here?"

Betty scratched her head and gave him a bemused smile. "Good point." She jumped in slight shock when the door opened seemingly of its own accord. It was only Alfred, of course, and he did this every time she traveled with Bruce, but he still scared her every time. It took a good deal of restraint for her not to simply open the door herself, though she did try her hardest because she knew Alfred held a good deal of stock in his job. Sitting on her hands (and ignoring Bruce's odd looks when she did so) was really the best solution.

"And Alfred's your… only, um, person?" she couldn't help but ask, because the place was huge and she couldn't at all imagine one person taking care of it all, especially not Alfred. He was wonderful, but he was no spring chicken.

"After my parents were killed Alfred was the one who raised me," Bruce answered. He leaned back in his seat so that Betty could exit the car first. That was another thing she was finally becoming used to, manners. Actual gentlemanly manners. Daniel had been polite enough, but Bruce had a butler and a manor. His sort of gentlemanliness was old world. As she waited by the steps Betty felt almost as if she'd been transported back into the early twentieth century, and she was dressed completely wrong for the part.

Amanda would have had the perfect flapper outfit, Betty just knew it.

"This way, Miss. Suarez," Alfred was saying. Betty looked up and saw Bruce standing on her left and Alfred standing on her right. Bruce nodded, indicating that it was alright to follow and she did, only just managing not to trip up the stairs. She clutched the strap on her shoulder tightly and tried not to look horribly uncomfortable as Alfred pulled open one of the giant wooden doors and then stepped aside. Bruce too stepped aside, apparently expecting Betty to walk inside first. Betty tried not to faint.

"Might I take your coat, Miss –"

"You can call me Betty," she offered for the umpteenth time as she shrugged off her giant winter coat and handed it to him. She took a moment to stare around the foyer, her eyes stopping on each detail. The molding around the corners, what looked like vintage lighting fixtures hanging on the walls, the paintings on the wall, and the grand staircase which she was sure she'd fall over. "Wow. Oh, wow, this is… wow."

"Thank you," Bruce chuckled softly and even though he was watching her, Betty couldn't stop herself from continuing to stare.

"Seven thirty, sir, for dinner?" Alfred inquired.

He nodded. "That's fine. When you get a chance, will you bring drinks to the sitting room? Maybe in thirty minutes."

"Of course, sir." With that, the butler stepped back slightly before he turned and left through one of the many doorways which led into the main foyer.

Betty continued to stare and Bruce cleared his throat. "Would you like to sit down?"

"Oh. Um… sure?" She was used to trotting behind Bruce, having to catch up with his longer strides. She did so now, hurrying after him as he walked towards one of the many doorways. "It really is a nice house—er, manor," she said again, because it was the only thing that was coming to mind. She took another three giant steps to catch up with her boss. "It's different—" she paused to catch her breath. "-- Than the pictures."

"So they say," Bruce said knowingly; Betty could tell that obviously she was not the first one who'd expressed the sentiments upon walking into the home.

She tried her hardest to stop gawking, but eventually had to face up to the fact that it simply wasn't going to happen. Her eyes simply seemed to grow wider when they entered the gorgeous wooden paneled sitting room. A fire was already crackling and popping in the fireplace and her eyes were immediately pulled over towards it and eventually to the mantle above. It was picture perfect, literally. Alfred obviously kept the place spotless, Betty couldn't see a speck of dust on any of the vases, picture frames, or glass pieces that sat atop it. She vaguely wondered who'd picked out the pieces, because it seemed as if there had almost certainly been a woman's touch involved. Maybe the woman in the large, painted portrait hanging above the mantle.

He was much younger in the portrait, maybe seven or eight, but Betty could tell it was Bruce. She figured that the older couple in the picture had to have been his parents. She turned around to maybe ask Bruce about the picture, but found that he'd kept walking, stopping beside a grandfather clock that fit in seamlessly with the rest of the room's décor. She opened her mouth to speak, but found that the only words that wanted to come out were another round of 'you have a gorgeous house'.

Bruce cleared his throat, snapping Betty out of her thoughts. "I was hoping that we could talk before dinner."

She was extremely glad he'd spoken before she had, preventing her from saying anything immediately idiotic. "Oh, yeah. Of course?" She reached up and scratched her head. "I mean, I figured this wasn't just a social thing. Like… well, is everything alright? Um… I really like working for you?" Okay, she hadn't meant for that to sound like a question. She _did_ like working for Bruce; meetings (well, dinners) like this made her nervous. She couldn't help scratching her head again. She scratched when she was nervous.

"You don't have anything to worry about, Betty," Bruce told her, pivoting to face the grandfather clock. "You're an excellent assistant, which is why I asked you here tonight."

She watched as he reached up and did a rather peculiar thing, opening up the glass face of the clock and reaching in to touch the clock hands. Quickly, she looked down at her own smaller and much less fancy watch to see if the time on the clock had been that off. "It's six thirty-fi–"

There was a loud echoing scraping wood against wood. Or perhaps it wasn't so loud, but because she'd been the only one in the room talking, it seemed that way to her. Betty stopped speaking and looked up from her tiny watch to the giant clock which was now _swinging open_ to reveal a darkened and ominous looking stairwell. A secret passageway.

The house was obviously old, Betty thought to herself, but this was ridiculous.

"I wasn't exactly sure of how to do this, which is odd for me, I'll admit" Bruce said, clasping his hands in front of him. "But if you'll follow me?" And then he turned again, melding almost perfectly with the darkness as he started down the hidden staircase.

Betty gulped audibly, her body frozen in place as she watched Bruce slowly disappear. For once, she had to _remind_ herself to blink. She reached up and scratched her face again, vaguely wondering if this was all giving her some sort of rash.

"Oh my God."

\--

Bruce did not turn around to see whether or not Betty would follow him down into the Cave. He'd made the decision to tell her this, but he wouldn't force it on her and best that she decline before seeing anything. There was nothing wrong with an eccentric billionaire having a secret passage in his large and very old home. He could always simply turn around and return back into the sitting room, play it off like some sort of joke. Betty was used to his somewhat odd behaviour at times; he could pass this off easily.

He descended further into the cave and then stopped, once again waiting to see if the sounds of footsteps would follow him. Did he _want_ her to follow him? Yes, he did, in a way. And then, in a way, he knew it would be better for Betty herself if she were to simply completely remove herself from his life. All aspects of it. On the other hand, he liked the girl and… perhaps there was a part of him that felt the need to let someone he liked and trusted in on his double life, and on his own terms. Rachel had figured it out, though given the circumstances it hadn't been much of a stretch. But she'd figured it out for herself and because of his secrets she'd left.

Betty was—well, to say more than an assistant would seem too cliché, Bruce thought to himself, but he genuinely cared for her. They were… maybe friends. Friends? No, maybe that was too hasty. Whatever their relationship had turned into, Bruce didn't want to lose it over an illy timed reveal on his part. He didn't want to scare her away from the job, but they'd come to a point where she could no longer continue to do the job unless she knew the full truth.

It was a burden, one he had no right to place on someone else.

He very nearly turned around and he would have, but the sound of Betty's sensible rubber heels clomping down the stone stairs hurrying to catch up stopped him from changing his mind. Bruce let out a breath he honestly had not realized he'd been holding.

"Y-you know," he could hear Betty's nervous voice echoing down the stairs. "Um… if this is the part where you go crazy and kill me with a chainsaw or something, could you knock me out first? Or… something?" Her voice squeaked at the end, indicating a slight stumble on her part. Bruce stopped and decided it was time to let her catch up.

"Here," he said, offering her his elbow so that she could keep her balance while her eyes adjusted to the dim light. He'd been doing this longer than she had and hopefully she wouldn't have much reason to return to the Cave.

The Cave? Well, it was really to emphasize the point. "I'm not going to kill you, I promise."

"Is it a hidden sex fetish room?" Betty blurted out a few moments later. She blushed almost instantly; he could see it through the darkness. "Sorry. At Mode there was a hidden S&M room in Christina's office. I-It opened when you pulled on an orange Manolo. Apparently Faye Summers was… interesting? Maybe that's not the word. Um… she liked sex. I guess. And… well, that's not the point. I'm preconditioned to think that rich people with secret rooms like S&M."

Bruce decided it was wisest simply not to respond to that. It wasn't needed, as they both stepped onto the final stair and then the stone landing of the Cave proper. There wasn't much sound to be heard besides the dripping of water from the stalactites overhead to the cave floor. The water, of course, dripped nowhere around the main computer, medical area, or any of the equipment, Bruce and Alfred had thought through that a good deal of time before construction in the cave had begun. The area into which Bruce led Betty now was dry as a bone and dark until he spoke, lowering his voice to something dark which tended to chill the bones of every criminal who heard it. "Lights."

The Cave was illuminated immediately.

"Ay dios mio."

Funny, how Bruce was the one shocked, turning almost instantly to face Betty after she spoke when he realized that he'd never once heard her speak Spanish before. He'd just assumed that she didn't. They stood in the Cave in all its glory. Betty's eyes jumped from place to place while Bruce's eyes stayed very firmly planted on the girl herself. Would she run, or hold her ground? There was no need for him to stare around… he'd seen it all before.

There was one thing left to be done. "Case lights," he spoke in the same gravely voice.

Silence for a moment and then the not quite clunking sound of Betty's thick heels as she walked slowly towards the brightest light in the room. It was a large glass case, lit from the inside with three large lights lining the top and bottom. It would have been unremarkable but for the large black suit with stood immaculately in the very center. Her eyes were fixated on it, Bruce could see, fixated on the only bit of color on the suit, the yellow belt hanging around the waist.

Odd, he thought, most eyes found the black bat symbol on his chest and _stayed_ there. The belt was of no consequence.

"Betty?" He didn't want her to go into shock and she hadn't said anything since her utterance to God. He was wondering if there was perhaps a better way he should have done this, but showing and not telling had originally seemed the best way. "Betty," he started again. "I—"

"This is an expensive fetish, Bruce." Betty turned around from the glass case and looked at him, biting her lip and reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. She pushed her glasses up on her nose. "It's a _really_ expensive fetish. Wow." She let out a breath and finally brought her eyes up to meet his. It didn't seem she was going anywhere.

"Do you understand what this is?" he asked her, matching her glance. "Do you –"

He stopped as Betty held up her hand. "You've got a bat and rubber thing," she said, pointing back at the case. She seemed not to be able to help but look back over to the large computer screen in the middle of the Cave. "Does Alfred –"

"Alfred knows." It was his turn to interrupt and he stepped forward to join Betty closer to the costume's case. He glanced down at her. "It's Kevlar, by the way. Not rubber."

"Right," she said, giving a small, shaky laugh. "Sorry, Faye would have had rubber. And leather."

Smiling was not something Bruce often did within the Cave's walls, but he did so now. Betty, more often than not, tended to bring out those unfamiliar quirks of his lips and in the most inappropriate of places.

"So I guess you weren't lying when you said you liked spelunking…" Her voice trailed off and she awkwardly placed her hands at her sides, clenching and unclenching her fingers. "Wow. This… this explains the makeup. No, um, it explains much more than the makeup."

He nodded. "I'm sorry I had to lie to you, but this isn't something that comes lightly. I'm still not completely convinced that I had any right to bring you into this, but Alfred… Alfred was right as always." Something he'd come to accept in his years living with Alfred was that the older man was _always_ right. It was a face of life that made little sense to try and argue. "You need to know this to do the job. If you still want the job." It was a fear he had and had admitted to himself (better to admit it than push it away), that she would leave upon finding out some of his more… eccentric behavior. Just like Rachel.

Betty licked her lips nervously. "Bruce? Alex Meade came back from the dead as a gorgeous woman named _Alexis_. Claire Meade is in jail because she apparently _killed_ Faye Summers who, do I have to say it again? Had a sex dungeon in the back of my friend's office. I think I'm almost _glad_ that this is it." She jabbed her finger at the case, turning to look at the costume. "I-I mean, when it comes to rich people doing weird things, this has got to be normal. A-At least it's… useful. You…" Betty chewed on her thumb for a moment. "You saved my life. My purse."

"That was luck." His face darkened slightly as his mind returned to that night. He hadn't actually been following her that evening. It had been a simply lucky chance that had led him to following her eventual assailants. He'd not lingered long afterwards, handing Betty back her purse before pulling his usual disappearing act. "And you need to be more careful. This is Gotham."

"Yeah, I'm getting that," Betty muttered. "Geeze, and I'm from New York. Though, I guess it helps when you don't have an asylum sitting a mile away."

"It helps," Bruce agreed. "This… it started there. In a way."

She looked up at him, a curious glint in her eye. "It did?"

"Yes." He gave a short nod and stepped forward to the case. There was a switch on the side of the case which he toggled to manually turn off the light. The 'Voice' wasn't something he used lightly and she had already heard it twice. "We should go back upstairs; Alfred should have dinner ready I'm sure you have… questions." Not to mention Alfred would have his head for keeping her down in a drafty cave for too long with no coat.

She scratched her head. Same spot she'd been scratching all night and he wanted to make sure that she had skin left there by the end of the evening. "Questions would be putting it lightly," she said, letting out a breath and a smile at the same time. In a motion that took Bruce by surprise once again, Betty reached up and patted his shoulder. "But… I can wait until the first course."

"You're alright with this?" Bruce asked cautiously, looking at her hand. "You're not under any obligation to stay on and I wouldn't –"

"Bruce." Her fingers squeezed slightly. "Alex to Alexis. Murderer. Sex dungeon. You're… _Batman_." She let go of his shoulder and smiled with the tiniest of shrugs. "Wow, that's really cool. You're Batman."

Betty grinned up at him, scratched her head again, and then turned, heading back to the stairs which lead back to the clock. "Alfred'll be mad if we're late for dinner." She pointed to the stairs as she looked back at Bruce, consequently tripping over her feet as she stepped up.

Alfred would be much angrier if Betty was somehow hurt and Bruce didn't much like the thought either. He moved to her side again, offering his assistance and his elbow once more for making their way back up the stairs. "Thank you," he said.

"Thank you?"

Bruce nodded. "You took the news better than most."

"I've dealt with worse than most." She shrugged again.

"I'm not sure you have."

"People coming back from the dead."

"Fear gas poisoning the entire city."

"My boss' mom killing her ex-husband's wife."

"An ancient order of soldiers tried to purge my home."

"Anna Wintour threw her Blackberry at me."

"Delusional clowns constantly escaping from prison."

"I'm Batman's personal assistant."

Bruce stopped on the stairs, pausing and looking at her thoughtfully before nodding. "You win."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betty, meet Bruce. Bruce, surrender to meet Betty's aggressive side.

  
"Good morning," Betty chirped, thrusting a cup of hot coffee underneath Bruce's nose as he walked through the door. She smiled up at him and shoved a clipboard and pen at him as well. "Sign there, please."

Bruce gave her a peculiar look, taking the mug in one hand and the pen in the other. Somehow he easily managed to drink the hot coffee and sign the paper and at the same time look her directly in the eye. "And good morning to you too, Betty. You're here early."

"Not really," she said frankly. "It's eight thirty. I'm a little late actually, sorry about that." Betty tucked the clipboard back underneath her arm and turned to walk back over to her desk where she popped it and herself down. She pulled in her chair and reached over to open up Bruce's schedule for the day.

"What did I just sign?" He asked, approaching the desk.

"A congratulations note for Oliver Queen." Betty unclipped the heavy card from the clipboard and held it up so that Bruce could see it himself. "His son was born last night. They named him Connor."

"The son that no one is supposed to know about," Bruce commented dryly, taking the card from her to look over and examine. It was certainly nice enough and something he would have picked out himself. It was getting to the point where Betty simply knew these things. It was nothing astounding, because it was what a good assistant simply _did_ , but Bruce wouldn't have been surprised if Betty was the sort who could forge his signature if the occasion called for it.

"I know no one's supposed to know about it," she said, reaching to take the card back. There was a cream coloured envelope waiting for it next to her keyboard. "But I figured, well, you _do_ know about it. Why not send a card? You've known Mr. Queen for awhile, haven't you? I know Daniel knows him."

He was forced to nod at that as he handed her the card. The truth of the matter was, the circle of old monied millionaires and billionaires ran rather small in America and they tended to all know each other. He'd gone to prep school with Daniel (until the elder Meade brother had been expelled and their parents had pulled both boys out) and Princeton, while he'd been there, with Oliver.

Bruce had never been overly fond of Oliver (or his Green alter-ego) but still, Betty was right. As usual.

She was becoming annoyingly Alfred-like in that respect. "I would have taken care of it myself."

Betty shook her head. "Nope. New Rule," she said, meeting his eyes with her own. "I take care of things like this. You go to the board meetings and sign the papers and everything, but I take care of the little things. I know that was already my job, but, well… we're going to try enforcing it now."

She had officially joined the ranks of people who could catch him off guard. Formerly, the list had consisted of Alfred.

Doing his best not to look overly amused, surprised, or taken aback by Betty's slightly aggressive attitude, Bruce simply nodded. "Alright," he said slowly, suppressing a small quirk of his lips as he glanced down at his watch. "I have a breakfast with Derek Powers at nine fifteen, so –"

"No."

"No?"

"No." Betty shook her head firmly. "New Rule. Nothing before at least eleven in the morning. You're too tired and there's no reason for you to come in before then."

Bruce found that his mouth moved before he had actually formulated a response. He blinked as he looked down at her, Betty sitting in her chair and looking rather regal and sure of herself, more than he'd ever seen her before. "No reason for me to come in before eleven o'clock, Betty? That's practically noon."

"That's the point," she said. Did he detect a tiny bit of sarcasm in her voice? He might have, but he wasn't quite sure. "New Rule. You're going to get at least five hours of sleep every night."

"Betty –"

"New Rule," she interrupted him again, holding up her hand for a pause. "If you _do_ insist on coming in earlier, you're going to eat a full breakfast when you get here, because Alfred's going to call ahead and tell me whether or not you did back at the manor."

Bruce opened his mouth once more, but Betty shook her head quickly. "Wait," she said quickly, popping him quickly from behind her desk. "There's another rule. Bruce Time."

"Bruce Time?" This time he couldn't help but look skeptical and completely confused.

The younger woman nodded. "It's an hour each day when I'm not going to patch through any phone calls, let anyone into the office, or bother you at all." She paused a moment, cocking her head. "You should probably take a nap or something."

"Take… a nap?" When Betty nodded emphatically Bruce was quick to jump in before she could lay down anymore of these… 'rules'. "Betty, please don't be offended if I ask you… _why_?"

There was silence for a moment before Betty sighed audibly and pointed her finger at Bruce. "Because _you_ ," she said, narrowing her eyes at him slightly and stepping out from behind the desk. "Run around as a giant _bat_ in the middle of the nights. And you don't get enough sleep. And you're supposed to be running a multibillion dollar company. _And_ you're… no. No questions. It's a rule. New Rules and you have to follow them." Betty finally stopped pointing at him, but she crossed her arms and gave him a full on glare and Bruce had to wonder if that wasn't worse than the pointing alone.

At least, though, she'd given him an inkling as to what this was all about.

Funnily enough, the boss and assistant had _not_ discussed what had been revealed since the night of the revealing itself. Bruce and Betty had eaten dinner together that night and while the topic of Bruce's nightly activities had come up once or twice, the girl had seemed more interested in discussing work related issues and had told a few amusing stories about Queens before the night was through. Bruce assumed that she was simply working on taking in the information. She was at least still speaking to him, coming into work everyday; her reaction had been better than Rachel's.

It had been a week since he'd told her, but other than a few questions of 'are you alright' they'd barely spoken about it at all. Betty had continued to come into work and do her job impeccably as she always had, greeting him with a smile each morning and thrusting coffee and papers into his hands. Just as she had this morning, but without the ultimatums.

"Betty," Bruce looked down at her. "Are we… alright?"

Betty made a face as she sat back down in her seat, hands reaching for her keyboard. "We're fine. Why wouldn't we be?"

"Because you're acting… not quite like yourself," he said as delicately as he could. He coughed.

"Alfred and I came up with them," she answered. She bit her lower lip before speaking again and Bruce could feel some of the aggressive nature draining out of her. "You hate them, don't you? I'm sorry, but… they're for your own good."

"My own good?"

"And the city's," Betty added after a moment's consideration on the matter. "Better a well rested vigilante than a tired and cranky one."

Bruce glanced down, running his hands through his hair. "I would hardly call myself 'cranky'."

She stared at him, obviously not buying it at all. "Batman's pretty cranky, Bruce. Lying about that? Is so not worth your time."

"How am I supposed to take an hour a day to myself if I'm not coming in until eleven in the morning?" Bruce asked, deciding to try for another tactic.

"By scheduling less," she said as if it should have been obvious, and Bruce supposed that maybe it should have been. It was really the only solution. "I mean, I know you hate half the things I have to put on your schedule. Well, maybe I don't _have_ to put them on. It's all about streamlining… less is more? Take off the last accessory you put on before you leave the house."

"Sometimes," he said, laughing just slightly. "You make it very obvious that you used to work at a fashion magazine."

"Don't change the subject," she scolded, pointing at him again. Her face fell a moment later and she rolled her eyes, mostly at herself. "Okay, it was a bad metaphor, but the point still stands, right? You don't have to go to every golf benefit people call you for. Besides," a small grin touched her lips and she shrugged. "Superman usually overshadows you anyway."

She was rather blunt today, Bruce decided. In the best way possible, of course, but blunt all the same. The girl speaking to him now was not the same girl who he'd met that first day she'd come into the office. She still had that annoying quality of almost always being right. "You're right."

Betty let herself smile. "I know," she said simply. "So, the rules: You don't do anything before eleven in the morning, you get at least five hours of sleep a night, you eat breakfast every morning, and you have an hour to yourself every day. You might be Batman, but you can't do everything. You're going to wear yourself out."

"Are these rules… flexible?" he asked.

"No— well, yes." Betty frowned, looking confused for a quick second. "I mean, if the Scarecrow breaks out of Arkham and you only get _three_ hours of sleep one night, that's okay. But we shouldn't make it a habit."

"That's good to know." Bruce took a sip from his long forgotten mug of coffee. It was lukewarm by this point. "Can I add something to that streamlined schedule?"

"Of course," she said, grabbing for a pen from the cup on her desk. Bruce didn't know why she didn't just enter it into the computer to begin with, but she seemed to prefer writing everything down first. "What is it?"

"The circus is coming to the amphitheater in January. I'll need two tickets," he said, moving towards his office door. "Do you mind?"

"It's my job," Betty grinned. "I didn't know you were a circus fan. Should I be sending the second ticket to a lady-friend?"

"I'll let you know closer to the date." Because the chances of him being with the same woman in January that he was with now, in November, were actually quite slim. It was part of the act, he supposed. But there was also the plain fact that he was very easily bored and he found that the sort of women he was often introduced to weren't the sort he wanted to spend large amounts of time with.

Bruce laid his hand on the door to his office, preparing to go and get ready to work until something occurred to him. "Tell me, Betty, exactly what am I supposed to do until eleven o'clock?"

"Use your imagination," she said cheerily, giving him another grin. "You're Batman. I'm sure you'll think of something."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betty doesn't at all understand Bruce's habit of dating dumb blondes.

  
Betty glanced up when a skinny shadow fell over her desk. "Hey, aren't you that girl who used to work for Daniel Meade?" The girl speaking was _way_ too skinny, Betty decided immediately. She could see her ribs through her loose dress and her head was much too big for her body as a whole. She looked like the Jose Reyes bobble-head on her nightstand at home. Except… female. And definitely not a baseball player. "You so did, didn't you? You always ate those pastrami sandwiches. I totally remember… you were the chubby one."

Betty blinked at the woman, pushing a bit of hair out of her face and trying not to look too offended by the comment. She, at least, was a _professional_. "Do you have an appointment with Mr. Wayne?"

"It's not an appointment," the woman said, smiling down at her with overly white teeth and bright red lips. "It's a date."

It was November. November 20th, to be exact. Six months since she'd started working for Bruce. She'd learned his favourite foods, memorized his daily schedule, learned how to forge his signature, bossed him around like a second Alfred (a high compliment coming from Alfred himself), and been given access to perhaps one of the biggest secrets she would ever keep. She liked to think that she and Bruce were relatively close in the employee and employer sort of way, maybe even in some sort of friend-like way. She was good at anticipating his wants and needs. She liked to think that she _knew_ him.

But she would never _ever_ understand his choice in girlfriends.

"Right, a date. One moment, please." Betty looked back down at her desk, reaching for the day planner she kept Bruce's schedule in.

Red lacquered nails invaded her vision. "Are you?" The woman tapped the day planner, whether trying to catch her attention or simply be annoying, Betty didn't know. "You _so_ worked for Danny!"

Betty counted to ten as she dragged her own bitten nails down the times in the book until she came to somewhere between six and seven in the evening. It was six fifteen. "I was Daniel's assistant until last May," she said briskly. "Are you… Darla?"

"Mmhmm," the woman drawled, finally removing her hands from the planner. Betty closed the book and set it back to the side of the desk. "I was hooking up with Danny when you were working there and now Bruce while you're working _here_! Isn't that ironic?"

"Actually, no," Betty couldn't help but answer. She met the woman's rather blank features and wondered how well she could have possibly known Daniel if she was calling him _Danny_. "It's more of a coincidence. It'd be ironic if– actually, why don't I just tell Mr. Wayne you're here?"

Darla let out a noise that could only be described as a high pitched squeak of some sort. If Bruce hadn't already known the woman was here (and he probably did; Betty had finally come to accept the fact that Bruce had better hearing than most) he most certainly did now. "Not _yet_. Let me… you know." She pointed to her face and then to her chest before fishing into the expensive purse over her shoulder and pulling out two or three compacts and two jelly looking things. Betty had absolutely no desire to see where those were going, none at all. She couldn't help but wonder how much more makeup Darla could possibly apply to her face.

"What?" Darla asked.

"Nothing," Betty said quickly. "Take your time." She really had to watch the whole thinking aloud thing. One of these days someone was going to hear something and it wasn't going to go over well.

The clock on her computer read a nice round six twenty. As hard as it was and as much as it pained her, Betty forced her eyes away from Darla (did she _have_ a last name?) and bent over in her chair, starting the slow process of gathering her things together. It had started to get cold out, what with winter approaching, and so her pile of things had started to grow. There was her knockoff Prada bag which held her gloves and scarf and her separate personal planner for her own appointments. She slipped her journal inside as well along with a pen for a bit of writing on the train home. She had no idea whether or not anything would actually be written that evening, but it was always worth the try. Next in went the evening edition of the Daily Planet. If she couldn't write, Betty liked to at least read the articles by her favourite journalists.

Betty brushed her skirt off when she stood up and walked happily over to the hook where she'd hung her puffy blue winter coat. She glanced over her shoulder to watch Darla for a quick moment before walking back over to her desk.

There was the all too familiar sound of the snap of a closing compact mirror. "Oh my God, I am _so_ ready now! Can you go get him?"

She couldn't help herself. "Like, totally!" Betty was a professional, but she too had her limits.

It would have been too much trouble to spare the woman another glance, so Betty chose not too. Instead, she knocked shortly on the door to Bruce's office, grabbed a plain black planner from her desk, and slipped inside the office as quickly as she possibly could. She closed the heavy wooden door behind her and looked a bit like a cartoon as she leaned against it, letting out a heavy breath.

"Betty?" She looked over at Bruce who in turn looked up from the papers on his desk. "You're still here?"

She pushed away from the door. "I know _a lot_ of good looking women, Bruce."

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm just saying," she said, walking towards him. "I know a lot of good looking women who would _love_ to go out with you. I can give you numbers. Some of them even have brain cells."

Bruce stood. "Darla's here, I take it?"

Betty nodded, managing to keep her scowl at a polite level. "She put some plastic things in her chest. Try not to suffocate on them."

"It sounds like she's made an excellent impression," he said dryly. Betty scooped a pile of signed papers from his desk. She'd leave them on her own desk and send them off to their respective places in the morning. "I met her at a party a few weeks ago."

"She called me chubby," Betty raised an eyebrow, tapping the papers into order in her arms. "And you're getting Daniel's sloppy seconds. I'm almost sure she's one of the people I bought underwear for when I was working at Mode. Tell me you're not taking her to Lex's ball? I still don't understand why dating dumb blondes is part of the 'act'." She would have crossed her arms if she could have.

Bruce slipped his suit jacket over his shoulders and ran a hand through his hair. "This is the first and last date Darla and I will be having," he said after a moment of silence.

"She'll be a cheap date, at least." Betty shrugged, feeling slightly vindicated. "She's going to order the salad. Maybe a glass of sparkling water."

"Exactly how jaded did Mode leave you?" he asked with a small smile.

"Jaded enough to be able to recognize a gold-digger with an eating disorder when I see one." Her glare relaxed as she looked over at Bruce. "Not jaded enough to brood in my giant mansion and run around in giant bat costume like some people we know."

Bruce actually laughed at that and Betty grinned. He so rarely did that and Betty found that she'd grown to appreciate the fact that she was one of the few who could make him actually _laugh_. She didn't consider herself any great wit, but obviously she had something. Something he valued.

"Speaking of Lex's ball," he said a moment later. "I haven't seen a bill yet."

"A bill?" Betty blinked, slightly confused.

"For your dress. I meant it when I said put it the company's expense account."

Betty's mouth formed a small **o** when he brought up the subject of dresses. Dresses alone made her want to scratch. The thought of _ball gowns_ still made her want to hyperventilate. "I'm, um, taking care of that." Note to self: talk to Christina this weekend. Best to hyperventilate in front of her best friend then some random store clerk. She threw Bruce a weak smile and hoped that would be the end of dress talk. For now, at least.

"I should probably go." Bruce straightened his tie. "How do I look?"

"You did a good job on the black eye," Betty said, gesturing to her own eye with a lopsided grin. "Can't tell it's there if you're not looking for it."

He smiled. "Good. Are you headed back to New York?"

"Yep. I should be able to catch the seven o'clock if I leave…" she looked down at her watch. "Now-ish. Sorry."

"It's alright. I've already kept you longer than usual." Bruce put a hand on her shoulder. "Be careful."

She laughed. "I'm a New Yorker."

"You've also been mugged and I'm… off duty, so to speak." She felt a slight squeeze from his hand. Forced to meet his eyes, she looked up and met his eyes. "Be careful."

"I'll be careful," she finally relented before smiling and ducking out of his grip.

It was a moment, Betty supposed, though it was one that was becoming a constant. Bruce was always telling her to be careful. It meant he cared. That's what Betty told herself anyway, so that she didn't become annoyed with the constant reminders. How many warnings about Gotham did one person really need, was the question. And what were the chances she was going to be mugged _again_?

Well, unfortunately it was Gotham. The chances were high. The chances that she'd be shot by the newest Freak-of-the-Week, as she'd taken to calling them, were higher.

Who _really_ went around calling themselves 'The Ventriloquist' anyway?

Betty sighed as Bruce opened the door to his office, stepping aside so she could exit first. She made straight for her desk, grabbing her coat and bag. Tuning out the inane conversation between Bruce and Darla was easy enough while she put her coat on and slung her purse over her shoulder. It wasn't until she'd finished, and turned off her computer and desk light that she looked back up and waved to Bruce and Darla. "Have a good time. It was nice to meet you."

"You too," was the high pitched reply. "And… oh my God, you know your bag is a total knockoff? I hope you didn't pay full price…"

Betty chose not to reply as she rolled her eyes and walked out of the office.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a girlfriend Betty approved of.

  
She might not have been a fashionista herself, but Betty knew a well dressed woman when she saw one. What's more, she new a _chic_ well dressed _and_ well acessorised woman when she saw one. She didn't care what the magazines said, black never went out of style, especially when the wearer was a petite, athletically built brunette, who seemed to be the very picture of a Parisian Fashion Week runway. Of course, Betty had never been to Fashion Week in Paris, but she still thought that this woman would have fit right in. Maybe she wasn't tall enough to be a model, but the clothes would still fit.

"I'm here to see Bruce Wayne."

Like she had been with Daniel, Betty was rather protective of Bruce. There was little she could do to stop him from going out with the women he generally chose (blonde, high voice, too much cleavage, and too little brain). She didn't understand why Bruce Wayne couldn't be perceived as anything but a CEO playboy of average intelligence. Showing a level of _above_ average intelligence didn't automatically mean one was running around in a rubber bat-suit. Betty liked to think that she was of above average intelligence and she certainly wasn't an undercover vigilante. As far as she was concerned, Bruce was torturing himself for absolutely no reason whatsoever, going out with his usual dumb bimbo type.

Betty tried not to judge, but she couldn't help but award the woman a _+2_ in her mind almost as soon as she opened her mouth. She wasn't blonde, and her voice had actual depth to it. Betty looked up over the rim of her book, surprised to have such a woman walk into the office at this hour of the evening. Any woman who walked into the office after six o'clock was typically for dating. "Do you have an appointment?"

"Mmhmm," she practically purred in her black Frye boots that were tucked into tight black jeans. She wore a black cashmere looking tank top and dark her hair was pulled back with a black scarf embroidered in with blue flowers. The blue in the scarf matched the blue gems that sparkled in the long, draping, silver necklace she wore around her neck. "You're Betty, right? I think we talked on the phone."

 _+1_. She remembered Betty's name, and Betty remembered hers. "Selina Kyle?"

The woman nodded, parting pale burgundy lips into a bright smile. "That's right. Six twenty, that was me," she said, watching as Betty ran her fingers down the lines in Bruce's daily planner. "I'm taking him out to dinner."

 _+2_. Not a golddigger. She was taking _him_ out? "Oh, that's nice," she commented. "I'll go let him know you're here, Miss. Kyle."

"Oh, it's fine, I'm early. Take your time. And call me Selina, please," she said. Betty couldn't help but notice how slim the woman was, though her arms were packed with toned muscle. She very obviously worked out and her thinness was likely natural, rather than the anorexic specimens Bruce normally dragged around. _+1_.

Betty glanced over at the clock on her computer. Selina _was_ early and it appeared it was simply by chance, not to put on makeup or apply prosthetic breasts. The red light on line two of her phone was lit, showing that Bruce was still finishing up business with whoever he was speaking with over at S.T.A.R. Labs. He'd been on the phone about ninety minutes now, and Betty couldn't immediately recall the name of the man who'd called around a quarter before five.

"Are you enjoying that?"

"I'm sorry, what?" Betty asked, looking back over at Selina. She'd been vaguely considering checking her email.

Selina smiled. "The book you're reading," she said, pointing to the book Betty had laid down just above her computer keyboard. "I've been meaning to read it, but I either haven't had time or I just forget to pack it when I head off somewhere. I've heard it's excellent though. Do you like it?"

She… _read books_? _Non-fiction books_? Betty did her best not to stare, averting her rather surprised glance to stare at the aforementioned book, Fast Food Nation, instead. "I, um, I am," she answered, stammering just a bit as she tried to get over the surprise. Bruce, going out with someone possibly intelligent? Perish the thought. He had, after all, assured her that the dumb blondes were integral to being part of 'the act'. Betty still didn't understand that.

"You know, Schlosser's writing a book about the jail system next," Selina said, playing idly with her long, draped necklace. "Of course, I'd really like to read this one beforehand. Have you ever read any of his articles?"

"He's one of my favourite journalists, actually," Betty admitted. She pushed her glasses up on her nose and looked over at the phone. The red light was still on. "Well, when he still has articles. They're not always in the Atlantic anymore… I guess since the book and the movie came out."

"That makes sense, I guess." Selina sat down in one of the chairs on the other side of Betty's desk. The younger woman nearly smacked her forehead, realizing she'd not been the best of hosts. Silly distractions.

"Can I get you anything to drink," she asked. "We have water, coffee, soda, probably some tea…"

"Don't bother." She was already digging around in her designer bag and Betty couldn't help watching what came out of the bag while the search was on. A copy of _The Economist_ and a battered version of _Northanger Abbey_ fell out amoung the knickknacks. She took hold of a plain bottle of water, uncapped it, and brought it to her lips. Not Figi, not Evian, not even Poland Spring. It was just a bottle of water and Betty wondered if that was a Walgreens label she saw on it.

 _+2_. "I only have time for magazines these days. And old favourites," Selina said, seemingly in explanation of the things that had fallen from her bag. "I'm a social worker."

Well colour her shocked. The woman had an actual job. "Oh, wow. How did you meet Bruce?" Betty asked, actually somewhat curious about how Bruce had come to find himself dating a social worker.

Selina's lips quirked in a small grin and she gave a soft laugh. "I've been helping to coordinate that damned charity ball," she explained, brushing back a small tendril of her dark hair. "Your boss donated generously and I do believe in repaying favours."

 _-1_. Well, maybe. Betty wondered if she was taking out every generous donator, or just the young and handsome ones. But by the same token, she couldn't complain. She'd been after Bruce to date someone with a brain for ages now, and while there was no proof that the woman was, say, a brain surgeon, she at least read things and that was enough for Betty. _+1_

"It's a really big deal. Er, the ball, I mean. He's been talking about it for ages." Mostly complaining about Lex Luthor and his involvement in the event. Betty spent a good deal of time simply nodding and agreeing along with him. She didn't know Lex Luthor at all – though she felt she knew his body guard, Mercy Graves, all too well – but from the things Bruce said, she'd decided that he didn't sound like a particularly plesant fellow, no matter what his public image was.

Sometimes being a vigilante's assistant was just _cool_ , Betty thought. Not that she could tell anyone that Lex Luthor was in the process of illegally lining his factories in lead and kryptonite, but, as a budding journalist herself, having inside information was particularly fun.

"We'll raise a good amount of money," Selina said. "I'm involved to make sure the money goes where it's supposed to in the end. Someone needs to."

Betty supposed she could have taken that as an insult, an implication that Bruce wasn't to be trusted with this sort of thing. That he would skim money off the top or put it into his own business dealings instead of giving it to the children it was meant for. But for some reason she really didn't think Selina meant it like that. She was perfectly happy to assume that the woman was talking about Lex, not Bruce.

Maybe, though, Lex could use a bit of it to buy Mercy a dog muzzle. That would be a decent investment.

Passing a smile to Selina, Betty turned to look at her phone quickly. "Bruce is off the phone. I should probably go get him before he gets involved in something else," she said before pushing back from her desk and standing up. She smiled at Selina again, biting her lip for a moment and then reaching back down to her desk to pick up her copy of _Fast Food Nation_. "Here. You can, um, take a look if you want. I'll be right back."

As Selina nodded her thanks, Betty knocked on the door to Bruce's office. It had been a while since she'd knocked and actually waited for his acknowledgement to enter. They were at the point in their relationship where Betty simply knocked and walked in. It wasn't nearly as dangerous as it would have been with Daniel, where one never knew exactly what would be going on behind the doors. Bruce was well behaved.

She rapped quickly and opened the door.

"Betty." Bruce looked up from his desk, shuffling some papers around and setting a pen back in the cup in the corner.

"Bruce." Betty smiled pleasantly and closed the door shut behind her. "So, I like her."

He raised an eyebrow as she approached and held out three or four papers for her to take. "Hmm?"

"Selina Kyle," she said, her tone indicating that he probably should have remembered the appointment. Well, date, apparently. "She reads books, which, can I say? Is complete one eighty from Darla-with-no-last-name."

"That was tonight?" When Betty nodded, he frowned just slightly. She refused to believe that _he_ , of all people, had forgotten anything. Granted, his nights had been rather busy lately, and that would distract anyone, but she was used to Bruce being more on top of things than she was. It was mere formality that she even read his schedule to him each morning. "It slipped my mind."

 _-1, Bruce_ , she thought with a sigh.

"I like her," Betty repeated, walking over to hooks on the wooden wall where several suit jackets hung along with ties to match. She cast a glance back at him before reaching for a silvery blue tie. The green one he wore currently had somehow become wrinkled throughout the day. "She seems nice."

Deftly, she tugged at the tie around his neck, loosening it so that it would easily slip around his neck. "I can take off my own tie, Betty," he said as his fingers beat her to actually removing the thing. He took it off himself and hung it from the same hook she'd taken the newest one from. Alfred would collect it the next morning and perform whatever miracles he did with all of Bruce's laundry. "I'll make my excuses. Do me a favour and schedule her for some point this weekend."

"But she's scheduled for tonight," Betty pointed out, gesturing to the door. That much should have been obvious, given that the woman was sitting outside. "And it's not like you have anywhere else to be. Your schedule's clear for the rest of the night."

He shook his head. "Bruce Wayne's schedule is clear."

"Could you not refer to yourself in the schizophrenic third person?" Betty asked with a sigh. She reached up and straightened the tie he'd quickly done up. "Does Batman have a hot date tonight? I thought the Joker was taken care of? Or, well, that you hadn't heard from him."

"He's not the only one out there," Bruce said, looking down at her. "You know that."

"He's the worst," Betty retorted quickly. "From what you've said and what I've read. If he's hiding, I think you have time to go on a date."

"The Ventriloquist is hiding by the docks, I'd like a look at the warehouses Luthor is lining with kryptonite and lead, which also happen to be by the docks, and there've been a rash of jewel thefts," Bruce pointed out. His voice wasn't superior or anything of the like, but Betty did get the feeling that he was glad to have the chance to be right again. He was always talking about how she and Alfred had an uncanny knack for being sensibly correct at all times.

She sighed, rolling her eyes ever so slightly. "They'll still be there tomorrow, you know."

"They will. But it's entirely possible that the people who get in their ways while I'm out eating dinner won't be. So… excuses?"

 _-2_.

"We can tell her Lucius called and it's an emergency." Betty wasn't much of a liar. She scratched and blushed and then tended to stutter when asked if she was lying. It was the one talent of being an assistant she'd yet to master. She could forge a signature with the best of them, but lying, even over the phone, was not one of her greatest abilities.

" _I_ can tell her Lucius called," he interjected. _+1_. Likely, he was thinking the same thing about her lying abilities that she was. That they were nonexistent in nature. "It's getting late, anyway. Heading home soon, I hope?"

She nodded, resisting the urge to roll her eyes or smirk. They both mothered each other in their own odd ways. Betty created rules and Bruce was determined to see her on a train every day by the time seven thirty had rolled around. He'd gotten worse since Day Lights Savings Time had gone into effect in early November and darkness began creeping through the city around five thirty every evening.

Betty simply nodded now, giving his tie one last secure tug. Perhaps a little harder than need be. "Yes, I'm going home. I'm going straight to the train station and getting straight onto the train. When I get off of the train I'll get straight onto a subway and then I'll go straight home. I'm not going to talk to any strangers and I'm not going to fall asleep on the train and get mugged or robbed. If I see a white faced clown with green hair on my two minute walk between here and the train station, I run. Good?"

"You're catching on." Bruce grinned and took a jacket from the hook, slipping it easily over his shoulders. "Why don't you head out? I'll take care of Selina."

"Sure?" Betty asked him, though getting out a bit early would be nice. She'd have time to buy a drink from the man with the little stand outside of the train station. She didn't consider that counting as a stop, given that it was just right there. There were no out of the way leaps or bounds.

"I'll be fine. Go ahead," Bruce assured her.

 _+5_. She might have protested other nights, but tonight she was more than willing to head out. If Bruce was willing to make his own excuses to his girlfriends, that was fine with Betty. She'd never savoured that part of her job at Mode. It hadn't come up often, but she'd spend a good deal of time wanting to bang her head against the walls when it had. Anything to spare that pain was just fine with her.

Betty clutched the papers Bruce had given her a few moments ago in her hands as she walked back out of his office. Selina was still there, sitting in the chair and sipping on her bottled water. As Betty began gathering her things she paused to tell the other woman that Bruce would be out in just a moment if she cared to wait. She tossed her planner, her composition notebook, and her wallet into her faux Prada bag. While she could have sworn that she'd left one of Bruce's nice fountain pens on the desk before she'd gone into see him, she couldn't find it now and she certainly didn't feel like crawling on her hands and knees to look for it. She figured if it had rolled somewhere she'd just as easily be able to find it when she came in tomorrow. Instead, she grabbed a normal pen from her desk and tossed it into her bag, as always, a just in case for writing on the way home from the office. It was a train ride long enough for at leas jotting down ideas.

She was throwing on her puffy winter coat when Selina spoke up. "Betty?"

"Yes?" She slung her bag over her shoulder. It didn't look nearly as comfortable there as Selina's had on hers. She supposed the jacket wasn't helping he effect.

"Your book," Selina said, holding out the paperback to Betty. She smiled kindly at her. "Thank you. I really need to actually _read_ it eventually."

"You should keep it," Betty said. Her hand was on the door knob when she looking over her shoulder to smile at the other woman. "You might end up with some unexpected reading time tonight after all."


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of mothering for early in the morning.

  
Betty smoothed down her wild hair, focusing mainly on her bangs. Taking the ferry over from New York that morning hadn't been the brightest idea she'd ever had. It was advertised as scenic and fast which, in Betty's opinion, had be the one of the biggest lies in the history of commercial advertising. She wanted to meet the person who'd taken a look at _that_ particular bit of the Jersey shore and thought to themselves, 'well, this is beautiful'. She wanted to meet them and throw them into the muck that was the sewage infested waters astride Newark and Bludhaven.

Ugh, Bludhaven.

The morning had started out as such a nice one too, bright and sunny. But as soon as she'd stepped foot on the ferry down at the South Street Seaport the skies opened up and the winds kicked in. She'd been too slow to get a seat inside and so by the time the boat pulled into the Gotham port, Betty looked something akin to a wet rat. Or at least she thought so.

Oh no, Alfred did too, apparently. Betty glanced at him gratefully when he somehow produced a small cloth seemingly out of thin air. She took it and wiped at her face, abandoning all pretense of being dainty and dabbing. She swept it through her hair and tried to sponge out the remaining dripping mess. It was going to dry and be horribly poofy anyway, but she could at least try and delay some of the damage.

"Alfred, it doesn't look like it's going to let up. Do you mind going over to the train station and getting Bet—oh." Bruce had the sense to look abashed as he came out of his office looking dry and handsome and seeing Betty standing next to her desk dripping and wet.

Betty looked at him as she rang water out of the towel and into the garbage can. "It's the thought that counts," she said dryly.

"You're here early," Bruce said, watching as Alfred took her jacket.

"So are you," she retorted, pointing up at the clock. "It's only nine. You don't have anything until twelve and I thought we'd made some rules?" Betty glanced over at Alfred looking for backup.

The old butler could only shrug. He set Betty's coat on the rack next to the fireplace at the side of the office. "He's a force to be reckoned with in the mornings, but you've nothing to worry about. With three cracked ribs, he's not going anywhere tonight," he said, raising an eyebrow as he looked over at Bruce, setting him with quite the look.

"Three of them?" Betty cast her own look at Bruce who still stood, leaning against his doorframe. "What happened to him?"

"He's still dealing with our Clown infestation. It's proving to be a rather persistent problem," Alfred answered.

" _He_ is standing right here." Bruce cleared his throat, stepping forward slightly. Betty and Alfred simply passed each other knowing looks and went on about their business. Alfred started arranging things around the coffee machine and Betty sat down behind her desk, getting ready to go through the emails and calls she'd received since the day before.

Betty looked at Bruce as she made an effort to pull her damp hair away from her face. "So today you have a lunch at twelve with the foremen from a few of your factories, then you have a meeting with Lucius, a meeting with someone named Diana Prince –you told me to just schedule her for whenever she wanted– and then dinner with Roxanna Jacobs. She's the one who'd be redesigning your factories that aren't up to Green standards once you settle on the price," she rattled off, alternating her glance between the computer screen and Bruce himself. She knew that he likely already had the schedule memorized for himself, but it was part of their routine and she wouldn't stop until he asked her to. She was his assistant after all. This was assisting. "Oh, and I've got your date problem for the ball figured out. You're going with my friend, Amanda."

"Amanda?" he asked. "Amanda. You hate her."

Damn Bruce and his near perfect memory for these things, the tiny, intimate details of her life which she babbled about not thinking they had any real consequence. She didn't talk about Amanda often, but she could only guess that she had come up at some point. Most likely she'd been talking about Christina or Marc at the time. "Hate's such a… strong word."

Bruce canted his head to look at her knowingly. "You don't like her."

"Not really, no," Betty admitted, reaching up and scratching her head nervously. She scrunched her lips to one side of her face. "She, um, has her redeeming qualities."

"List five."

"Five?"

"Of her supposed redeeming qualities," he elaborated briefly before looking at her expectantly.

Betty couldn't even think of one. She didn't think that being Faye Summers' daughter (as the blonde was now claiming) counted as a redeeming quality, and other than that, Betty couldn't think of one. This was so much harder than it was supposed to be. "She's pretty. And blonde. She's completely your fake type, Bruce. I mean, I wish Selina was going to be in town for your sake – I _like_ her – but you need a blonde of questionable moral substance. Amanda is the epitome of a blonde of questionable moral substance."

Bruce seemed to be trying to hold back a laugh. "What bet did you lose that I'm now paying the price for?"

"It wasn't a bet," she said, brushing hair from her face, trying to look innocent and nonchalant about the subject. "You know how you've been bugging me about finding a dress for Lex's charity ball? Well, Amanda mentioned that she knew one that was perfect for me, and, well, Christina and I were having trouble finding one that fit. Mode only has size twos and fours… sixes if you get really lucky. But, well, apparently there're about fifteen designer dresses in Faye's sex dungeon and they're all, er… plus sized, which… well, that's me. Christina and I think that Faye must have had some sort of plus sized model fetish."

"Plus. Sized. Model. Fetish?" Alfred repeated in a way which made it sound as if the concept was just absolutely foreign to him. Betty only hoped it was the concept of a plus sized model fetish and not fetishes themselves. It was less awkward that way. "I do so wonder about these people you worked for."

"Faye wasn't blood related," Bruce said. It sounded rather callous, but she supposed it was simply the truth and Bruce did know first hand that the entire Meade family wasn't completely mad,

The little red light on the coffee machine had stopped blinking while they spoke. Rather than make Alfred do something she could very easily accomplish herself, Betty stood from her desk and rushed over to the little table, two mugs in hand. "Anyway," she went on, reaching for the coffee pot despite Alfred's silent protests. "Amanda found a purple dress back there that… I tried it on and I felt like – it was really nice. She wasn't going to let me have it unless… unlessIgotyoutotakehertotheball."

"My hearing is second to Superman's, Betty," he said with the tiniest of smirks.

"See!" she exclaimed. She turned on her heels holding two mugs filled with coffee. One was shoved at Alfred and the other at Bruce. "See! Tell her that. She'll be putty at your feet. She loves a strong man. A strong, rich man. Actually, you don't even have to mention the hearing. Just talk about WayneTech the entire night."

Bruce sipped his coffee and went back to leaning against the door frame. Betty could feel his eyes on the back of her neck, which might not have been as creepy if she hadn't known that he knew about a gazilion ways to kill her using common office supplies.

"You don't have to go with her," she amended with a shrug as she poured her own mug of coffee. "But you told me to help you find someone since Selina's not going to be around. She's so much better than Darla; she should come back." Alfred made a short, disapproving grunting noise underneath his breath at that and Betty could only glance over at him, her face confused.

"She should," Bruce agreed, seemingly shooting his own look at Alfred. "Unfortunately she's in Paris for… a duration."

"That's rich-people speak for 'a ridiculous amount of time'," Betty translated helpfully for… well, only herself. She grinned innocently. "She can't be mad, though, if you go to this thing with Amanda. Just get her home before midnight. That's when she turns back into a goblin."

"As long as it's not a clown," he muttered, taking another sip of his coffee. He looked back up at Betty, giving her a short nod and smile. "Call Amanda and set everything up. You're going to have your dress. Tickets, as well. I've been meaning to ask if you wanted any. You have your sister, your nephew, and… Christina?"

Betty knew she looked rather shocked and she rather thought that Alfred may have done a bit smirking in her expense. "Really?" she asked, blushing a little at her reaction. "That's not – I mean, you don't have to. And it's… it's a school night. Justin can't—"

"It's a Friday night, Betty, and a charity ball _for_ children. But it's your decision," he said kindly.

Christina would _kill_ her if she found out that she'd been given the opportunity to come and she'd fallen through on it. Hilda would likely help Christina along if their father didn't stop her. Justin… well, he'd never tlak to her again, Betty suspected. Shame, because she liked talking to her nephew. Of course, she supposed if he wasn't talking to her, they could still play Dance Dance Revolution. You didn't need to talk to play DDR.

No, though, she had to be serious about this. The invitation was serious, even if she couldn't believe it was being extended. "I'll ask them, definitely," she finally answered, allowing herself to grin brightly. "Thanks. Justin loves any excuse to wear Armani."

"Justin wears Armani?" Bruce laughed.

Betty nodded, making a face. "We're really not sure where he gets it from, though last time I think either Marc or Daniel might have helped," she shrugged. Her nephew had looked so handsome that evening, she hadn't been able to ruin it by asking him exactly where the suit had come from.

"I'll set aside three tickets." Bruce looked up at the clock on the wall, built in and bordered with a rich cherry wood. He nodded. "Ten o'clock. I should start making calls."

"Not until eleven," Betty said promptly. "You and your bruised ribs can go take a nap or something until then."

"Cracked, Miss. Suarez," Alfred interjected, cutting a glare at Bruce. " _Cracked_."

"Cracked," Betty amended, with a smirk. "Go."

Alfred stepped forward after laying his coffee mug down on the small table. "I'll see to his rest, no worries."

"Thank you, Alfred." She beamed at the older man from her desk, watching with a pleased expression as Alfred herded Bruce into his office.

"She's supposed to be on my side," she heard Bruce say just before the door snapped shut.

"I believe she is, sir."

 _Click_.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like Cinderella getting ready for the ball...

  
Betty flinched, but she didn't say anything. Hilda was there and she didn't want to be accused of complaining, even though she didn't think saying 'ow' when you were poked in the side with a sharp pin really counted as complaining. Still, she didn't want to tempt it. Besides, everyone, including herself, was in such a good mood. She was perfectly happy keeping her mouth shut as Christina worked around her.

"I swear I had this hemmed two days ago. It's like you shrank an inch," Christina said through the pins in her mouth. She carefully folded up the satin purple fabric and stuck another pin through. Pursing her lips, she lifted the hem and peered underneath and Betty's feet. " _Betty_!"

Damnit, she'd been caught. How was she supposed to know that Christina would be able to tell by the length of the hem? "What?" She decided to go for innocence.

"You know what." Much more quickly than she'd put them in, Christina started pulling out pins and the hem fell back down to an appropriate length. "Where are those shoes? And this is going to have to be steamed now."

"Sorry," Betty drew out the word with a long sigh. She squirmed around for a moment, working quickly to kick off the gold flats she'd been wearing. Yes, they were flats, and yes, they were from Payless, but they were _comfortable_. That was what counted, wasn't it?

"You were not walking out of here in those." Her friend pulled a horrified face, looking at the cheap shoes kicked across the room.

"Didn't that Amanda chick find you a pair of Choos?" Hilda piped up as she finally looked away from the mirror, her mascara, and her eyelashes. "You're choosing Payless over Choos? Are you insane, Betty?"

"We knew she was insane when she didn't want to go to this thing in the first place. It's the social event of the year" Justin, her younger nephew, strutted into the room looking very smart in his new charcoal grey suit, red tie, and shiny cufflinks. He wasn't wearing Jimmy Choos, but from the look of his feet they were something just as expensive. Betty couldn't help but looking at him in something akin to shock.

"Don't call your aunt crazy," Hilda scolded, swatting Justin on the shoulder. For his part, Justin looked absolutely horrified that someone had dared to touch and possibly wrinkle his designer suit.

The flurry of activity around her made Betty grin brightly. Laughter bubbled up within her for no apparent reason, but she couldn't help but let it out as she looked around the room. There were clothes, shoes, and makeup everywhere sitting on equal footing with the dirty coffee mugs, empty pizza boxes, and dangerously placed silverware. Betty had stopped trying to clean and organize things hours ago when Christina had first arrived, needles and thread in hand and clothing bags thrown over her arms.

It was as if she hadn't had the time to spend with her family and best friend like this in forever. Even if they were technically preparing for what was a work function for her, it was still spending time with them and there were all going to the same place in the end: Metropolis.

"Ouch!" Betty jumped as a burst of hot air hit the back of her ankles and feet. She turned to see Christina kneeling by her with an iron and hitting being rather liberal with the steam button.

"You complain too much," Hilda muttered.

Betty managed to keep smiling. "It's an exclamation of _pain_."

"Stand still, Betty," Christina hit the steamer again and tugged on the hem of her dress.

"It's fine, Christina," She did her best to hop away from the blonde woman on the floor. She still wasn't quite used to walking with so much fabric swirling around her. Betty turned around to offer her hand to Christina. "Get up… you're going to wrinkle _your_ dress and mine is done. It looks amazing, thank you."

Under normal circumstances, Betty tended not to stare into mirrors. It was probably the worst possible thing for her self esteem on a normal day. It wasn't that Betty thought particularly horribly of herself, but sometimes one simply didn't need to look into the mirror and see busy hair, braces, and thick glasses. Tonight was different.

[The dress](http://entimg.msn.com/i/gal/2007GoldenGlobes_Undressed/TheBest/AmericaFerrara_400.jpg) had to be a few seasons out of style given that it had been sitting in Faye's secret room for so long, but Betty didn't care at all. Not even Amanda had mentioned it in her usual catty manner once she'd seen her try it on. Mean spirited as it was, Betty couldn't help but love the fact that she'd made Amanda speechless with, dare she even think it? Her _beauty_? She didn't feel particularly beautiful, but she did feel pretty.

She grinned as she turned to look in the mirror. "And I pity any girl who isn't me today," she said quietly underneath her breath. Her hair was still bushy, she was still wearing glasses, and her braces were lined in purple rubber bands which only vaguely matched her dress, but she still felt pretty.

And witty, and gay.

The fingers running through her hair were gentle, pulling some of the hair away from her cheeks and pushing it behind her ears. "You look beautiful." Hilda bent forward, kissing Betty on the cheek.

"Thank you."

"You do," Christina agreed. She stood, swiping briefly at the fabric of her dress around her knees where she'd been kneeling. Other than that, though, Christina looked gorgeous, in her opinion. Her red strapless dress looked stunning, as did Hilda's two toned blue off the shoulder. They were both Christina's creations, dresses which she'd hurried to finish once Betty had extended the invitation to the charity ball. She'd then proceeded to go above and beyond, finding accessories in the Mode closets for all three of them and a child's sized Armani suit for Justin. Everything but Christina's dresses would have to be returned in the end, but for now they were dressed to the nines and would remain that way for the entirety of the evening.

"My friends are going to be _so_ jealous." Justin joined them in front of the mirror, examining the cufflinks that came with his suit. He ran his hand through his slicked back hair and smiled quite smugly.

"We spoil you," Betty and Hilda said at the same time. They covered their mouths as they tried not to laugh too hard at the boy, holding manicured hands over painted lips.

Justin glared at the both of them and gave an audible 'hrumph' in the back of his throat. "I'm just saying, I'm going to look good when I meet Bruce Wayne."

"No. _Noooooo_ ," Betty turned around to look at her nephew, shaking her head vehemently. "No, no, no, no, no."

Lately, Betty had been very big on rules. Rules for herself, rules for Bruce, rules for Justin, rules for Hilda. Rules for Christina weren't necessary, because, for the most part, Christina held together very well. Justin and Hilda, on the other hand, Betty had felt the need to sit down on the couch and talk out a few things with. There only a few ground rules for the charity ball and Betty didn't think she was out of line at all.

Betty pointed a finger in the air, looking quite serious for a moment. "Rule number three: _Don't_ bother Bruce. Please?"

Justin leveled her with a look. "I'm not going to bother him. I just want to meet him. He's your boss!"

"Rule number one: Don't bother Bruce," Betty felt the need to reiterate her list of rules once more. "Rule number two: Let me do my job. Rule number three: Don't bother Bruce."

"I can't believe you have to _work_ ," Justin said, crossing his arms and looking rather pouty. "This is the biggest social event of the year."

"You said that already, and that's why I'm going, Justin. To work." A small hit of pride eased its way into her voice. She could barely help it, taking her odd assistant-cum-friendship with Bruce as a point of pride. It was no longer that he'd trusted her with _the_ secret at this point -- though Betty was still proud of that – but that she felt as if there was something between them. Explaining that to Hilda and Christina hadn't come easy, no, instead it had come with laughing and teasing about her supposed crush on Bruce Wayne. Betty denied anything of the kind.

She smoothed down the fabric around her thighs and fingered the gorgeous ruching that made up the bodice. Hilda pulled a bit at her hair, running a brush gently through it. Her hair was bushy as it ever had been and for the moment, Betty was actually alright with that. She didn't look like _that_ kind of girl… the Amanda type. She wasn't the assistant who slept with her boss.

No, she was the assistant who tried to sleep with the accountant who got his girlfriend pregnant. Which would be the better track record? Betty wasn't entirely sure. Though, she was rather sure that Bruce hadn't gotten anyone pregnant. Way to stay positive.

Bruce was out of the question, not to mention out of her league.

"Stand still for a second." Hilda picked up the hot flat iron from the table and started attacking Betty's hair. With the vehemence she was using to go at it, Betty was inclined to stand as still as possible. "Justin, go get Betty's shoes. Her real shoes." Justin stopped admiring himself in the mirror long enough to nod at his mother's instructions and dash away up the stairs. Betty's feet cringed in advance and Christina took the opportunity to kick the Payless flats quickly underneath the living room couch where they would no doubt be lost for years.

She supposed, in the end, the Choos would be worth it. She was there to work, after all, not dance. Choos would inhibit pretty much any and all dancing. At least she'd be paying attention to everything else.

She could hear the thumping around upstairs as Justin looked around for the shoe box. Betty had shoved it underneath her bed earlier that evening. "Oh, and Hilda?"

"Yeah?" Hilda dragged the iron through her hair.

"Don't make out with my boss tonight."

" _Pfft_." Her sister rolled her eyes. She gestured quickly to her face and chest "That was not my fault. I can't help having all this."

"Well, keep all _that_ in _there_." Betty reached behind and poked Hilda in the stomach. "You know just… keep your hands to yourself."

Hilda rolled her eyes again and exchanged the iron for a brush and a shiny gold clip. With a quick maneuver of her hands she pulled Betty's hair back and up, snapping it together and stepping back to admire her work. Betty looked at it and had to admit, despite the few bits of frizz popping out around the edges, her hair looked quite nice. Nicer than she'd ever been able to do by herself, though if she'd tried very hard she might have been able to help Hilda do hers. It was like her odd ability to cover Bruce's black eyes, but being completely unable to cover her own acne. Some things in life just weren't fair.

There were a series of loud thumps as Justin thundered back down the stairs holding a white shoebox in his hands and a small metallic clutch in the other. Betty recognized both as items Christina and Amanda had proffered for her from the Mode closets.

"The car's here. Justin, be a dear and bring those over here," Christina said hurriedly and Betty got the message quickly. She lifted dress and her feet, placing the latter in the gold shoes placed on the floor in front of her.

She nearly tripped in the heels as she tried to run over to the window to peer outside. There was indeed a long black limo sitting at the curb outside and next store Gina Gambarro was chewing gum and peering conspicuously through her living room window at Alfred Pennyworth as he stepped out of the car and began making his way up the Suarez's front walk. Betty quickly closed the curtain, not wanting Hilda to catch any glimpse of Gina. "Alfred's here," she chirped instead.

Christina was suddenly hovering again, going over Betty's dress with a fine toothed comb. "Do you have the tickets?" she asked, pulling every so slightly at the ruched bodice. She stepped back and examined her work.

Betty nodded only after Justin handed her the clutch purse. She opened it up to check that everything she'd placed inside of it that morning was still there. The tickets, her chap stick, a few dollars, and her house keys all sat neatly inside and she smiled, pleased.

The doorbell rang.

"You look wonderful," Christina said, touching the sleeve of Betty's dress once more.

"You do too." Betty smiled at her friend and pushed her glasses up on her nose.

"It's not too late for contacts, Aunt Betty."

" _Justin_!" she scowled and fiddled with her glasses a bit more.

"I was just kidding!" Justin said, ducking as Hilda reached out to swat the back of his head. "Don't mess up my hair."

She wasn't going to admit it, but a sudden flash of horror zapped through her mind. Introducing her family to her boss? Bringing them out in public? What was she thinking?

No, no. This was going to be fine. Fine. There was nothing to worry about. Was there? Betty watched as Justin fussed with his hair and Hilda applied some last minute lip gloss. Her sister needed to not make out with her boss (not only was that simply bad tactics, but Amanda would likely try and rip Hilda's hair out if she put the moves on her date. Oh, she was going to owe Bruce _big time_ …) and her nephew just needed to behave and not maul any of the celebrities that might show up.

Everything would be fine.

"Mom, Gina Gambarro's looking out her window again!"

Or maybe not. Betty slunk past Alfred, trying to resist the urge to cover her hands with her face as her sister went into a Gina Gambarro themed tirade.

It was going to be an interesting night.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversation.

  
**I.**  
For professional reasons. _Hah_. Professional reasons her purple draped ass! Professional reasons at Mode would have meant standing next to Daniel and reminding him of who everyone was as they approached to shake hands. It wasn't a fun job, but it meant that she _did_ something at these sort of events instead of just standing around awkwardly. She wasn't confident in much, especially not in a dress and heels, but Betty was downright confident of the fact that she just looked awkward. Sure the dress was pretty and her hair was less frizzy than usual, but she knew she was still Betty. And Betty at a ball? The only word that came to her mind was _awkward_.

She should have known. Why would Bruce need her here for anything professional when he had his own personal photographic memory? Standing next to him to remind him who the rich and famous were would be wastes of both their time. Bruce remembered these things whether he tried to or not and when she'd gone up to him at the beginning of the evening he'd simply smiled at her and told her to 'have fun'.

Have fun? Try 'break out in hives'. Luckily, they seemed to be all on her back. Or, perhaps not so lucky. She couldn't reach them to scratch all the way back there. Right in between her shoulder blades where the dress pulled together and…

"I knew Thing One was showing up, but who let Thing Two in?"

Betty glanced at Christina and the two shared an exasperated groan. "Hello, Amanda," they chimed in unison. Betty couldn't help but wonder where Bruce was when she _needed_ him.

At least Christina was there to scratch her back while Amanda insulted them.

  
 **II.**  
"Mom! Mom!" Not that Betty answered to the call of 'mom', but she couldn't help turning around along with her sister to watch as Justin practically sprinted towards them, winding nimbly through the much taller adults on the dance floor until he reached them. "Mom!"

"Someone'd better be dying," Hilda muttered in Betty's ear as they both turned around.

"With these people, you never know," Betty said. She glanced back at the tuxedoed man her sister had been talking with. For the first time she'd seen her sister flirting since Santos died, the chosen target wasn't half bad. Maybe Justin would be quick. "He'll still be there, don't worry." She patted Hilda's shoulder.

" _Mom_!" The whirling dervish had reached them both. Justin looked just short of pulling on the skirts of their dresses for attention. "Mom, I need a cell phone. Now."

"Who're you calling?" Hilda asked, though her hand was halfway towards her purse.

"No one." Justin looked at her as if that should have been an obvious fact. He made a vague gesture in a vague direction. "I just need your phone."

Looking from Justin back to the man in the tuxedo she'd been flirting with, Hilda gave an exasperated sigh before digging around quickly in her purse and pulling out her cell phone. She handed it to Justin who immediately ran away with it in the direction he'd come from. Curious, Betty watched as he wound back through the dancing throngs and pushed past people until he'd found his way to the opposite side of the room. There was a bright beacon of red hair, pale skin, and green fabric waiting for him in the corner.

She felt a pinch on her shoulder. "Is he with a girl?" Hilda asked, peering in the same direction as Betty. When the crowds parted a bit they could catch a good glimpse of the two. Betty knew who the girl was on sight, having seen her several times sitting in the nicely upholstered chairs in her office, just outside Bruce's. She came in with her father, Commissioner Gordon, when he had meetings after school hours. Usually sat around and did homework rather quietly until Betty offered her something to drink or commented on a book she was reading for English.

Betty scrunched her face as she tried to remember the thirteen year old's name. She'd always seemed a bit shy. _Carla… Laura… Barbara?_ "Barbara," Betty told Hilda, watching as the redhead pulled out a cell phone of her own and started pressing buttons. "Barbara Gordon."

Well, at least she was assisting _someone_ with names.

  
 **III.**  
It was just bad for a girl named Betty to be petty. She'd decided that early in life. Why give anyone a reason to rhyme her name with? 'Betty the Petty' or 'Petty Betty', had too much of a ring to their sounds. When she'd explained this to Hilda and her father when she'd been much younger they'd both given her odd looks, pointing out that she had to be one of the few ten year olds who actually knew what petty meant, much less would use it in an insult.

Nevertheless, the thought of the easy insult had always kept her jealous and petty sides in check. Whatever worked, right? Betty liked to think of herself as a pleasant person who didn't get their jollies off on others' pain. But sometimes, she just couldn't help herself.

"Who's the girl?" Christina asked. She lifted her flute of champagne to her lips and took a liberal sip as she watched the drama unfold in front of them.

"The one in red who looks like she's about to cry or the one in black who looks like the cat eating a canary?" Betty couldn't keep a bit of smugness from eking its way into her own voice. Sometimes it just happened. "We like the one in black, by the way."

Christina deftly switched her empty glass for full one as a waiter passed by. "Do we know the one in black?"

"We do." Betty nodded. "Selina Kyle," she said. She bit down on her lip. "I didn't think she was coming though. Bruce said she was in Paris. Which, I mean… well, that was weird, because she helped coordinate this whole thing. She's a social worker."

"She's gorgeous." Leave it to her friend to focus on the important things.

"I think Amanda's figured that out."

Christina raised an eyebrow. "Is that something smug I hear in your voice, Betty?"

She turned away from Christina for a moment, just to hide the tiny smile which was dying to form on her lips. She had to let it slip out, it was hurting her lips too much to keep hiding it. It wasn't that she was _enjoying_ the fact that Selina was distracting all of Bruce's attention with her slinky black dress, and most likely --and more importantly-- her brains. It wasn't that she was enjoying the fact that Amanda's face was slowly turning all sorts of different shades of red as she watched Bruce's attentions slowly turn from her. And it certainly wasn't the fact that she was enjoying seeing Bruce, _for once_ , go for the _right_ girl.

No, she was just smiling to be smiling. Of course.

The two friends watched in silence for a moment as Selina leaned over and whispered something to Amanda that made the other girl's eyes go wide. The blonde looked like she wanted to attack the brunette, though Betty had to think that Amanda would end up relatively dead if that happened. If anything, Selina's muscular arms were only more pronounced in that sheath dress.

Betty toyed with her champagne glass (which was filled with sparkling cider, at this point). "I am not petty."

"I said smug." Christina's eyes followed both Amanda and Selina. "You really need to get over that 'Petty Betty' thing."

"It's a legitimate childhood fear!"

"If someone had actually ever called you that." She gave Betty a knowing look before going back to watching the unfolding drama. "I think Amanda might actually hit her. Shouldn't you … go over and do your assistant thing?"

Betty grinned and shook her head. "I'm thinking Bruce can handle this one himself."

Maybe that would teach him to date dumb blondes.

  
 **IV.**  
"You're not covering the ball for the Planet, are you?"

"No."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"You're friendly as always, Bruce."

"You didn't answer the question."

"Lois is covering the story."

"And you are…?"

"I go where Luthor goes."

"If I see any red and blue…"

"It's my city, Bruce, and sometimes even _you_ need help."

  
 **V.**  
"Quite a few people from Mode here this evening." Though he hated small talk, it was necessary in public, even with someone he considered himself somewhat close with. He took a glass of champagne from a waiter's tray to hand to his assistant. He'd been watching her throughout the night and seeing that she'd been drinking mostly sparkling cider since her first glass of champagne, he didn't feel that she'd be worse off being handed another.

Besides, she seemed to be reverting into that skittish girl he'd met on her first day of work. She needed something to do with her hands.

"Thank you," she said as he handed her the glass. "And, I've only seen Amanda and Christina. Selina too, by the way." She smiled at that.

"Selina isn't from Mode," Bruce answered gruffly. He glanced down, eyeing the wine glass in his own hand. Selina was a factor he'd not planned for this evening and, admittedly, he'd been almost caught off guard.

"Obviously." Betty's grin widened just a bit. "But, I'm glad she came. All the way from Paris and all."

"Yes." He looked at her. "You could have helped."

She looked back innocently. "Helped with what?"

"I think the evening could have done without the suspense of waiting to see if Amanda actually _would_ hit Selina," Bruce said.

"I don't know, I think Selina could have handled herself."

He smiled behind his glass as he took another sip. "It's not Selina I'd be worried about."

To reveal Lex Luthor's true nature to Betty was one thing. It wasn't a decision Bruce had struggled with in the end, figuring that it was for her own good that she should know such things. There was little point in keeping the secrets of a man with no morals. On the same token, he'd also taken the time to make sure that Betty was well versed in the identities of those Gotham villains who regularly made nightly rounds of the city. He simply thought it was good information to have in one's arsenal.

But then there were the identities of other heroes. Other heroes and, well, _Selina_. He was constantly mentioning their names around her, but never their alter-egos, figuring that unless it became absolutely necessary for her to know that Oliver Queen ran around in green tights, then he would respect their wishes for anonymity. They were fellow heroes, after all, and though he didn't often get along with them, he respected what they did. It was one circle which he simply couldn't bring Betty into.

Selina was different. Somewhere between hero and villain depending upon the mood she was in, Bruce didn't respect what she did, but he couldn't completely condemn her actions either. She was a thief and there was nothing redeemable in that. But she was an endearing thief.

Bruce didn't know what it was that endeared him to her so, but whatever it was, it also kept him from revealing her secret identity to Betty. He would not tell her that Selina ran to Paris for a few weeks in order to let the publicity on the cat burglar die down; that she went by the name of Catwoman at nights and ran around in black leather; that the first night they'd met _she_ had broken _his_ shoulder. Betty was rather law abiding, God bless her, and in a room surrounded by several high ranking police officers, including the commissioner himself, Bruce decided he would keep such information to himself.

With Betty looking at him expectantly, Bruce decided it was time to change the subject.

"Anyway," he said after a moment. "Like I was saying… Mode's put in showing this evening."

"And like I was saying, I've only seen Amanda and Christina," Betty retorted.

"I saw Wilhelmina Slater over there." Bruce nodded to the right side of the room. The woman in question stood out in a Grecian draped black and white dress. Her hair was piled atop her head, revealing scads of jewelry hanging from her neck and ears. It was tasteful as always and, as every time Bruce had seen her, she looked impeccable. In true socialite form they'd exchanged greetings earlier in the evening, their mutual cool personalities making sure that the meeting hadn't lasted very long at all.

Betty squinted, looking over her glasses in the direction he'd pointed. "Oh, I guess you're right. There's Marc too."

"Her assistant?" He assumed she meant the man with the over stylized hair hovering over her.

"Yep." She shrugged a bit. "I didn't know they were coming."

"Everyone's here." Bruce quickly glanced at her to make sure that she wasn't drinking anything before making his next comment. "I've already told Daniel Meade that you're here as well."

Impressive, Bruce thought with a chuckle, how Betty could choke and sputter on absolutely nothing.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shall we dance?

  
"You look gorgeous."

"Thank you. My braces match."

"They do. That's… they can do that?"

"You never noticed? They're coloured rubber bands."

"I had no clue."

"Well… I'm getting them taken off next week."

"Congratulations."

"I'm pretty excited."

"Do you want to dance?"

"…me?"

"Yeah."

"I… yes."

Her hair flipped in the breeze, swinging from shoulder to shoulder as she was swept onto the crowded dance floor. Their fingers intertwined and his hand felt heavy on her waist. She brushed her fingers across his, just once, before resting her own hand on side and trying her hardest to fall into the quick waltz which would lead them to circle the dance floor many times.

Waltzing was hard enough on its own. It was harder in Choos.

Betty did not know how to waltz. Oh, she knew the basic steps. She knew the count. _1-2-3. 1-2-3. 1-2-3,_ over and over again in her head. She'd watched _The Sound of Music_ a trillion times with Justin. She'd swung him around the living room to _Edelweiss_ , both of them bumping into things while her father looked on somewhere in between fear for her furniture and plain amusement. Usually Betty was the first to laugh, knowing that they looked ridiculous. Somehow, Justin had come out of their escapades actually knowing how to waltz. But then, Justin could also replicate, in perfection, Moses Supposes from _Singin' In the Rain_. It was no surprise that he'd figured out how to waltz just from watching a movie. Betty still tripped over both of her own feet.

Or stepped on somebody else's.

"Sorry," she squeaked out, backing away and gingerly avoiding stepping on any more of Daniel Meade's toes.

"It's alright," he said. And suddenly they were whirling around again. "I've missed you. Well, seeing you. Everyday."

"I've missed you too. I– never got a chance to say thank you," she said, smiling up at him. Daniel wasn't as tall as Bruce and his shoulders weren't as broad, but he was still a giant in her eyes. She had to look up.

He canted his head. "Thank you?"

"For the job. Both of them. I mean… I just– I can't believe you did that."

"Can't believe I gave you up, you mean?" Daniel grinned at her in the self-assured, cocky way that she'd grown so used to during her time at Mode. "I'm still wondering why I did."

"I think I remember that being confined to a bed with a metal rod in your leg and seventeen stitches at the base of your skull had something to do with it," Betty offered, returning the grin shyly. She looked up at him through her eyelashes. Amanda would have been proud. " _You_ made _me_ leave. Remember?"

Daniel nodded, maybe having the decency to look slightly sheepish when she pointed that out. "I thought it'd be for the best."

"I would have stayed," she said simply. She stepped on his toes and jumped back again, trying to fall back into step with the dance. _1-2-3. 1-2-3._ He steadied her and that was fine. The only way to do it was urge her closer, which Betty found herself allowing.

"Bruce was looking for an assistant. Better than waiting for me to–" He paused. Betty looked up expectantly, though doing so made her lose her line of sight. She couldn't help tripping again.

"I was going to wait," she said.

"I'm not going back to work until January." Daniel pulled her closer as they spun around.

"I would have –"

"What, living on ramen and saltines?" When he grinned she couldn't help but laugh.

Sometimes she forgot how long it had been since the crash. The crash had changed _everything_. May 15th and she'd been out of a job until Daniel regained consciousness again five days later and sent her to Gotham for the very first time. May until December. Well, it would have been a rather long time to be without a steady paycheck. Daniel wouldn't have needed an assistant for the seven months of physical therapy he'd gone through. He had doctors for that. A sister (brother?). A father. An Amanda.

Seven months without a paycheck would have been, quite simply, hell. Especially in the sprawling metropolis of New York. And, well, she wasn't greedy, but she was making more doing less for Bruce. 'Doing less' was relative, as it was. She was working less, but doing less? She was keeping what was probably one of the most important secrets in the known world.

"I like ramen and saltines," she said softly. "And Bruce. I guess. I just… miss Mode sometimes."

"If you're as good to him as you were to me, I don't think he's going to be willing to let you go," Daniel said. "He says you are."

Well, that, and the fact that she knew he was Batman. That could have something to do with it. They were tied to each other now, she and Bruce. Betty didn't mind it, she _liked_ Bruce. She really did, and she enjoyed working for WayneTech. She liked being trusted– it wasn't that Daniel hadn't trusted her, mind you. There was something about working for Bruce that made her feel like she mattered. She suspected the vigilante thing played into it… the feeling that she was working for something bigger, even if it was only by proxy. She wasn't the one out running around in black rubber, but she was making sure the one who was got enough sleep each night. She helped wrap his bruised ribs, cover his black eyes, and made his coffee in the morning.

Betty felt like she mattered. Maybe it wasn't her dream job. She wasn't writing, but she was doing _something_ that could help others. Wasn't that what counted in life?

"I liked working for you," she said, tilting her head down in guilt. "I'd come back."

"And I'd take you back." His voice was sincere as they pivoted through another step. "But I don't think you should."

"Why?"

For once that evening Daniel took his eyes off of her, but Betty couldn't take her eyes from him and so she saw when his eyes turned towards Bruce. Bruce, who looked –as much as she hated to say it– more handsome and dapper than even Daniel that evening. His dark hair was slicked back neatly drawing attention to his gorgeous, high cheekbones and perfect features. She remembered Alfred asking her which suit choice she preferred and she'd been pleased to see when she'd arrived that night that Bruce was wearing the black Dolche & Gabana and blue Prada tie she'd pointed to. She didn't much care about the shoes… shoes, as had been proven earlier that evening, were not her forte. Still, she snuck a sideways glance at his feet and was unsurprised to find that even those were perfect.

Bruce was just one of those people, she supposed. Betty couldn't even begrudge him to kind smiles he was passing to Amanda every so often. Who could blame him? They looked like a matched pair. Bruce in Dolche and Amanda in Anthony Nak. They looked rich and they were the centers of attention in their little sphere of the room.

Betty sighed slightly as she watched them, almost glad when the flow of the dance swept them towards the other side of the room. "Why?" she asked Daniel again.

"He's not diving into the fountain with Amanda and calling it a pool," he answered. His face lit up with a grin once more, as if it was some sort of joke she was meant to get.

And here she'd thought she knew everything about her boss. "What do you mean?"

"Alexis did that first, actually. Before… you know. There was a party and by the time it was over, he was drunk on martinis and swimming around one of those penny fountains with three models." Daniel outright laughed this time as he spoke. "Bruce, last year, he jumped into a hotel's fountain with three girls. But he did better than Alexis… he bought the hotel when they told him he couldn't swim in the fountain."

This dumb blonde bimbo thing _really_ had to stop. "You're kidding." She shook her head, rolling her eyes. It was a bad move as she stepped on Daniel's feet again. "Sorry."

"I swear, that's what happened." He seemed not to notice when she stepped on his feet. She couldn't even read it in his face, a realization which made her smile sheepishly and cast her glance downwards. "But none of us are doing that anymore."

Betty let out a small laugh. "What fountain did you jump in?"

"Get drunk in front of the Met on a summer night. You'll understand."

"I think I'll pass." That was safest. "But you didn't answer my question."

"Oh." Daniel paused for a moment, spinning her out so that he was holding her by only one hand before pulling her back towards him. Somehow she managed to execute the movement without killing herself, Daniel, or the other dancers around them. "You're good for spoiled rich kids."

"Betty Suarez, Nanny Extraordinaire?" Her smile was lopsided but apparent.

"I mean there's something about you that makes us stop jumping into fountains with models,.. and, every other stupid thing," he said. "I kind of liked that."

"Are you going to start jumping into fountains again because I'm not there?" she asked him.

"No." He shook his head. How he could do that while dancing was beyond her. "The effect you have is permanent."

 _1-2-3, 1-2-3, 1-2-3, 1-2-3, breathe_.

He probably hadn't meant it the way she'd heard it. Low, affectionate, maybe with a touch of… _1-2-3, 1-2-3…_ "Well, I-I'm glad I helped. I mean… Bruce isn't you, but… he must have changed. By himself. I mean… I can't take all the credit for this one. Believe me." No, there were a whole host of villains sitting in Arkham cells that could take a lot more credit for Bruce's transformation than she could. She was perfectly happy to acknowledge that, knowing that she _did_ have her place in Bruce's life.

"I'm never going to find another assistant like you, you know," Daniel said after a long moment. They continued to move across the floor, though the music was finally winding down, creeping slowly away from it's last swelling crescendo.

"You don't have to say that." She could feel her cheeks flush with colour.

"I mean it, Betty." And the warmth of her cheeks was heightened when his lips pressed lightly against her right cheek. "Thank you."

There was no use repeating the count in her mind at that point. A dance count served no purpose when one's feet simply stopped moving and were absolutely stuck to the ground, as if her lower half had suddenly transformed to lead. A dancing couple nearly slammed into her back, missing by only an inch and still sending a dirty glare her way as they moved on. Daniel had already straightened, but even then she could still feel the place where his lips had touched her cheek.

"Swooning," she heard herself mutter. "Not professional."

"What?"

Her eyes flew up towards Daniel. "N-nothing," she said hastily. "Nothing. Just… thank you and, I-I… " She had nothing. It was one of those moments in which she found herself wondering if she was really cut out to be a writer. Words. She was supposed to have words for every situation. Words to describe how she felt at times like this. She should have been able to spit something out. Something besides, "You really never noticed the colours on my braces?"

Genius, Betty. Genius.

"Never," Daniel admitted, looking sheepish himself and turning red to match Betty. "Not until tonight."

"Maybe they just didn't match well enough," she suggested, still mentally kicking herself. Why did she say these things?

"Maybe," he said, looking down at her. "There were a lot of things I didn't notice."

 _Like what_ , she wanted to ask. What hadn't he noticed? Braces, obviously. But, Hair? Shoes? Her shining personality? Her hidden, ugly-ducking beauty which would only be revealed when she was kissed by her true love who, coincidentally, turned out to be the handsome prince? Handsome multi-millionaire, editor of Mode Magazine, and heir to the Meade fortune? Same thing, right? Was he looking at her any differently now? He had just kissed her after all. Had he just realized that—

Well. To be fair, he had only kissed her cheek. You needed lips to make that true love connection. That was it.

She glanced back at Daniel. "Like wh—"

There was a crash that interrupted her words, and maybe it would be for the best in the end. Best for her, not for the fifty or so people showered with sharp pieces from the formally gorgeous shattered stained glass. The entire ballroom was done up in a sort of modern gothic style. Gargoyles lined the outside corners of the building, giving away the stone exterior's age easily. The inside had been renovated for events just like this, but the old world influence was still apparent in the marble floors and gilded molding around the ceiling. The stained glass _had_ depicted the crucifixion of Christ, though at this point it was more like a beheading. Betty could see His head in what little glass had managed to stay in the frame while the rest rained down on the ballroom floor.

It took a moment for Betty to realize that there were screams and a general sense of panic engaging the room. She stood stock still on the dance floor as she had been before the crashing of glass, not turning her head until there a particularly piercing shriek rang out. Amanda's voice was recogniseable anywhere.

Specifics would escape her later that evening as a detective questioned both she and Daniel as they stood together, his arm around her because she'd not yet stopped shaking. The questions weren't out of the ordinary. What did he wear? What did he look like? Did he say anything to you? How much was the necklace he took worth? Did he have any weapons? How many were with him? Could you see their faces?

They were normal questions for this sort of thing, but there was only one that Betty would be able to answer only a short hour later.

"Why so serious?" he asked her softly, stitched red lips parting in a terrifying smile as his gloved hand reached up to her neck, snatching away the small gold cross that rested on her throat.

And then, for a split moment, Betty wondered if she and Daniel would ever truly work. For though it was he who she grabbed onto as soon as her neck was bare, it was, in the end, Bruce's dark eyes she found across the room.

Something had to be done.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party crashers.

  
"Th-That's him?"

"That's him."

Bruce considered the few times he'd seen Betty scared during the course of their relationship. There'd been her first week at WayneTech when she'd looked as if one wrong glance from any of them would have sent her running and crashing through the window. He'd realized just how intimidating he could be and for her, only her, he'd attempted to make himself genuinely amicable. It came naturally now.

The next was the mugging. Though he'd been looking at her through the cowl, he'd still seen the same lines of fear and worry trace their way across her face. He knew he'd only scared her more, jumping from the shadows as he had and throwing the would-be muggers into the wall of the train station. By the time she'd gathered her wits and her purse and had turned around to speak her thanks, he'd been gone and the muggers trussed up in a grappling hook and cord hanging from the rafters of the tiny station shelter. It had been a more palpable fear then. The almost visible sort, brought about by the fact that you knew that maybe, just maybe, you weren't going to walk out of that situation alive.

And then, ironically now, her fear of coming to this ball. The absolutely terrified look in her eyes each time he'd casually asked whether or not she'd managed to find a dress yet. The scratching she did (though she thought he didn't notice) when he'd mention socializing and dancing. The scared and shocked look on her face when he'd summoned Daniel Meade over to say hello to his former assistant. The good sort of scared look she'd pulled when Daniel had then asked her to dance.

He would make light of the latter one of these days, but the first fear was quickly proving itself warranted. Though not for of the evils of dresses, dancing, and talking as Betty had worried about.

"I-I thought you hadn't h-heard from him for the past week." Bruce could practically see Betty attempting to swallow past the lump forming in her throat.

"And now we know why."

"I also thought the normal freak-of-the-weeks didn't _do_ high society."

Obviously she'd not met the Penguin. "Assuming that Jack Napier is 'normal' in any respect is a mistake."

"Sorry."

"It's alright. You made a mistake. This time you'll live."

"Remember that discussion we had about you _not_ talking like an insane person?"

Bruce spared Betty a glance, watching a brand new sort of fear form in her eyes. It wasn't one he wished on anyone, certainly not someone he'd come to care for. It was the sort of fear that came with the knowledge that you were looking into the eyes of a psychopathic murderer. He'd been too far to stop any eye contact between the two and something changed when you looked into the eyes of Jack Napier. It wasn't something he, or anyone else, could control and because he'd looked into those eyes and seen what was there, it wasn't something he would wish on anybody.

"And this is Metropolis," he heard Betty hiss. "What is he doing in Metropolis?"

"He knows."

"He knows _what_?"

He could only look at her from the corner of his eye, refusing to take his glance off of Napier as he picked his way through the crowds followed by his goons. There were screams and crashes enveloping the room in noise and making it hard to concentrate on the people themselves and Betty as she spoke next to him. One shrill voice was piercingly clear.

 _"Won't the Bat come out and play?"_

This was Metropolis. Metropolis, home of Superman. Bruce could see him, just to his right. Clark Kent looking awkward and lanky as he stood next to Lois Lane, and obviously unable to leave the woman's side. There were far too many people, even with the advantage of super-speed. Though he wouldn't admit it, Bruce was always slightly smug that he'd mastered the art of a silent and unseen exit without the use of powers while Clark was rendered helpless in a situation like this.

But whether or not Superman could put in an appearance was besides the point here. The point was, it was Superman who any villain coming to Metropolis should have been expecting to tangle with. Not a Bat.

"He knows," Bruce repeated.

"What does he –"

He turned towards her, finally, eyes narrowed in a way which almost mirrored the mask he would soon don. "Get Christina, Amanda, your nephew, and your sister. Get out of the building. **Now**." Later he would regret scaring her like this. He'd done his best to keep Betty separate from this world so far. She knew his secrets and she knew the information he deemed necessary she know to stay safe. She knew never to trust a Luthor and which alleys in Gotham never to walk down. She'd not known the sound of his voice coupled with this particular look in his eyes.

It was only Alfred who didn't respond to this particular combination of expression and tone, but then, Alfred had known him for far too long and Bruce simply knew better. Betty had the same reaction as all the others. There was no argument, no fight, no protest. Her hand briefly reached up to touch the bare skin where her small gold cross had rested, but she said nothing. She was scuttling away soon enough, pushing through the crowd until the bright purple of her dress was lost from sight.

The dingy purple of the Joker's jacket was visibly, plainly so. It was a beacon in the middle of the room, flitting around him as he danced around calling out for the Bat.

He knew.

Jack Napier was many things, but Bruce had never counted him as stupid. You didn't come to Metropolis in search of a Bat unless you had a reason.

Had he seen Betty stand so steadfastly beside him? Perhaps? It would be something to worry about later. After all of this. After they'd gotten past the explosions and screams. Glass rained down on their heads as another window exploded, seemingly by itself. They were carefully times explosives of course, but the crowds of people on the ballroom floor didn't know that. It only took Bruce a moment to locate the others, placed just underneath molding surrounding the remaining high windows. Emotion was a distraction at a time like this, but Bruce found himself vaguely entertaining the notion of being annoyed at Clark. The one person n the room who could eat bombs, and he was stuck in place.

Women were a distraction.

"Bruce."

He looked at the pale, slender hand on his shoulder. "Go."

"No." The slits of Selina's blue eyes matched his own, nearly a mirror image of his own glare. Somewhere along the way she'd learned well, though he'd not been aware he'd been teaching. Her eyes left his, just for a moment, as she turned her gaze towards the clown.

The noise of M60s rang out through the room, quick repetitive pops of noise followed by more screams and the dangerous tinkle of crystal falling from the ceiling to the floor. Bruce grabbed Selina against his chest, knocking them both to the floor and pulling her behind the closest shield, an over turned buffet table.

" _I know you're here, Bats-for-brains._ "

There was a single gunshot. Browning. Nine millimeter. One body. She would be dead before help could arrive.

" _And until you prove me right…_ "

Another window blasted through, the glass crashing down on the crowds. The holes were a perfect size for a S.W.A.T team to swing through, but some how Bruce didn't see that happening before portions of the ceiling simply collapsed in on them all from lack of support.

" _Until you prove me right, Batsy, we're just going to keep havin' fun_."

There went that M60 again, spraying bullets into the crowd.

Selina pushed him away. She was another one… too smart for _his_ own good. He could see the plain recognition in her eyes. "He knows," she said, meeting his eyes. Her former glare softened slightly, but her words were still pointedly frank. "You messed up, Bruce."

Hours would be spent in the Cave after this, picking over his every move from the past weeks. Trying to figure out where he'd dropped that vital clue. Had he even dropped a clue, or was this just Jack Napier being Jack Napier? He didn't have the time to figure that out now. "Do you want to help?"

"Yes."

"Then find a way over to Lois Lane. Keep her safe."

The look she gave him spoke volumes, but when the machine gun let off another round she chose not to argue and Bruce was thankful as he watched her slowly crawl away. The bombs, at least, would be taken care of.

" _I don't know about you, but **I'm** having fun._ "

Bruce was _not_ having fun.


	16. Chapter 16

**I.**  
He was a gentleman. How could she have ever thought any different? He was quite the gentleman, wrapping his coat around her shoulders and hugging her close to his side. He wasn't going to let her go, she felt, and that knowledge was a comfort. He wasn't Bruce. He wasn't knocking down criminals and limping back to her with cracked ribs and a valiantly earned black eye. But that was alright. He'd put his arm around her instead, and he wouldn't let go.

"Ms. Suarez?"

The voice was jarring, more so than the cold air and snow falling on her hair and glasses. As soon as she got someplace warm her glasses were going to fog up something awful.

"Ms. Suarez, I'm sorry, but we're going to have to ask you a few questions."

Betty looked up for what seemed like the first time since they'd managed to escape the building. It took her a moment to adjust to the light, or perhaps the lack there of. She'd been staring down at the snow, fresh and bright as it was underneath the never ending light of Gotham City. When she looked up it was into the dark eyes of two police officers who she'd never seen before. Not that she was on first name basis with many GPD officers, but she was at least familiar with the likes of James Gordon. Honestly, a familiar face would have done her well.

She had Daniel, at least. "You can't do this later?"

"No, Mr. Meade. We need her statement for–"

"It's okay." Betty blinked as she spoke. Snow was landing just above her brow and melting before dripping down into her eyes. She reached up to wipe away some of the dampness, only stopping when she remembered that it was Daniel's coat sleeve she was about to get soggy with melted snow, makeup, and likely a good deal of hair spray. She settled for just wiping her hands with her eyes instead. "Ow," she mumbled. Her eyes stung a bit.

"Are you sure, Betty?" Daniel asked. His tone was soft, adding a new quality to his voice; one she'd never heard before. He really was full of surprises tonight.

She nodded, and it seemed that was all the two officers needed to launch into what would prove to be the beginning in a series of seemingly never ending questions and answers.

"Can you tell us what happened, Ms. Suarez?"

\--

"Where did the costume come from?" She had a knack for thinking and saying inappropriate things at inappropriate times. It wasn't a very useful talent.

"Does it matter? He's here, isn't that enough?"

"Oh. No, you're right." She had to stop saying these inappropriate things out loud. "I-It's good he's here."

Admittedly, Betty was still wondering where the costume had come from. It seemed like she'd run from Bruce just five minutes ago. She could barely remember how she'd gotten from Daniel to Bruce to Christina, but she knew damned well that Bruce had _not_ been wearing the heavy leather and Kevlar black suit when he'd sent her running away in the other direction. Maybe it wasn't important –no, in the scheme of things it _definitely_ was not important– but she really did wonder how he'd gotten that suit on so quickly.

"You know everything I said about this guy not existing?" Christina asked slowly. "I take it back."

Betty nodded with a gulp. "I'd say I told you so, but I don't think this is the time for that." She had the feeling the Bruce would be completely unenthralled with this conversation to begin with. He'd told her to get out of the building. Yet here she was, standing ten feet from the door with a perfectly clear route of escape and instead of leaving, she was staring and yapping with her best friend as if this were an empty hallway in Mode. She was going to hear about this tomorrow, no doubt.

It wasn't her fault. She was from New York, but she _never_ saw this sort of thing in Queens. Hell, this sort of thing didn't happen in Midtown Manhattan. She'd never actually _seen_ her boss in action. That one night at the train station didn't count, and even she could tell that this 'Joker' was more of an opponent than those two muggers had been.

"We need to get out of here, Betty." Christina had the right idea. They'd all just barely managed to avoid being shot, Batman's appearance completely diverting the Joker's attentions from the crowd. It was the Batman he'd come here for, after all. Betty felt as if she was only just beginning to understand what Bruce had been trying to tell her.

He knew. Right. She got it now.

Betty couldn't help feeling the empty spot around her neck again. The missing sensation of cool gold would take a while to become used to. It wasn't something she wanted to become used to either, but it seemed she was going to have to learn. The necklace was trapped in one of the sacks the masked men held. It had almost been like a robbery out of an old movie. Masked men holding brown sacks and ripping jewelry from women's necks, fingers, and ears while firing guns into the crowd in a frenzy. But Betty suspected that their leader could have cared less about the jewelry. It was likely just a bonus in all this. His henchmen had fallen back to the sides once Batman made his presence known, ordered to stand down and away as the Joker took center stage. It was as if the clown forgot the bystanders altogether as his attentions zeroed in on her boss.

Betty felt Christina grab her hand, squeezing it tightly and trying to drag her along, but she really was glued to her spot on the floor. People were pushing past her on their way out, but her feet would not move. Maybe they were all jaded Gothamites, but Betty, for one, wanted to see Batman work. Call it a morbid curiosity. Or, simply call it something that could end up killing her.

Either way, it wasn't safe.

 **II.**  
"He spoke like a lolcat."

"What?"

Justin Suarez couldn't help but look slightly exasperated when he looked up at the officer. "He spoke," he repeated slowly, as if he through the cop might have had some sort of mental deficiency. "Like a lolcat." He looked from the questioning officer back to James Gordon and his daughter, Barbara. It was only the girl who gave him any sort of sign that she understood what he meant.

She nodded. "He did, dad. 'Why so serious'. He kept saying it over and over again."

"Like a lolcat," Justin attempted to explain again. "You know… I can has cheeseburger?"

The other officer's stare quickly turned into a glower, the likes of which he'd never seen before. The NYPD had nothing on this. Though it made sense– they weren't dealing with this brand of psychopath day after day. "You think this is funny? We're trying to conduct an investigation here, and–"

"Hey, hey. Lay off the kid." Justin was glad for the commissioner's interruption. He didn't even mind when the older man put his hand down on the shoulder of his Armani suit. It had been ruined enough during the course of the evening as it was. Crawling across the floor and trying to avoid being shot while your mom squeezed you near hard enough to kill you herself did not do wonders for designer suits. "Justin, right? Where's your mother?"

"I was with her over there," The thirteen year old pointed to a group of ambulances, circled like wagons on a prairie. It was hard to see anything, really, past the blur of EMTs, stretchers, and snow. "She hit her head."

"Is she alright?" Gordon asked.

"She's in beauty school. We've seen worse." Well, it was true, Justin thought. His mom had survived plenty of hot comb burns in the past and the EMT treating her had been very sure that it wasn't bad enough to be a concussion. That was the only reason he wasn't over there. That, and the fact that the Metropolis cop hadn't given him much of a choice.

"Good, good." He nodded in Justin's direction before turning to Barbara. "Go wait in the car, this won't take long."

"But I can has cheeseburger," Barbara said simply, looking up at her father and not moving a inch. "You need me to translate."

"Why so serious," Justin said, nodding in agreement.

The commissioner sighed. He placed his hands just behind the two teenagers, pointing them in the direction of the EMTs. "Come on. Maybe your mother can tell us more."

\--

His henchmen all looked a bit like him. Variations on a theme, as it were. All were white and clown faced with giant spots of blush around the cheeks. The features of the masks varied in size; big noses, small ears, wide lips… nearly everything was represented. The lips -- big or small, thick or thin – were consistently turned downwards, forming ugly and distorted frowns. It was possible that there was a bit of stitching around the lips, but pity the person who was actually close enough to see.

The masks weren't truly a substitute for the original. They were just _masks_ , after all, and despite the mass scarring and reconstruction, Jack Napier's face was actually quite expressive. Even if that expression was most often a smile, it certainly said something. Insanity, for the most part.

"Glad you could join us, Bats!" Perhaps it was the fact that was a genuine excitement in his voice that made the hairs on the back of the hero's neck stand up as they did. He was used to shouted cursing and screaming upon his arrival, never excitement. But the Joker was nothing if not unpredictable and the epitome of the atypical villain.

He actually preferred the others he faced. The corny gimmicks and propensity for idle chatter which was almost always their downfall in the end– when would they learn that soliloquies were _not_ the answer?

The Joker was a rather loquacious fellow, as Alfred had once commented, but his speech seemed to aid him if anything. While other so-called 'super villains' could hypnotise themselves into believing their delusions of grandeur with the sounds of their own voices, the Joker's voice lacked that one adverse affect. His penchant for prattle was simply annoying. Distracting, even, though Batman would be loathe to admit it.

It continued between them as it had since they'd first been 'introduced'. The more stoic in his silence Batman proved to be, the more Jack Napier spoke. It was grating.

"I knew you'd come."

Most of the guests had been able to escape the room once he'd arrived. As usual, his presence had completely captivated the Joker's attentions. They had something of a relationship, the two of them, and he was beginning to believe that this habit of terrorizing innocent citizens was about more than the money and jewelry shoved into the nondescript brown sacks. The clown had eyes for no one else and most had taken advantage of this. There were still a few, too captivated to leave.

He and Betty would be having _words_ later.

"That's right, Bats-for-Brains." The clown took a moment, twirling around in a circle and shooting his gun off at the ceiling. He stopped, slamming his foot down to the floor and staring straight into Batman's eyes. "I knew you would be _here_." A steady stream of laughter filled the room and he slapped his knee with his free hand before clutching his belly as he doubled over with giggles.

"Here!" he said, looking up just briefly to meet Batman's eyes again. "I knew you'd be here. I _know_ things. I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I _know_! And I'm the only one. Do you feel like we're closer now? Like we've _bonded_ , old chum? I feel so much closer."

Alfred Pennyworth, Betty Suarez, Clark Kent, Selina Kyle, Jack Napier… one of those names was not like the others.

He would admit to nothing. The mask certainly helped to keep his face blank, though the muscles in his face were still as ever. There was no visual reaction on his part to the Joker's revelations. Napier may as well have admitted to eating an apple for all the response Batman would give him. It was instead a call to action. Batman jumped from the dais on which he'd been standing, slamming into the Joker's shoulder with a perfectly aimed kick. The telltale dislocating _pop_ was damned satisfying.

 **III.**  
"It didn't look that bad in person, actually," Christina mused underneath her breath.

"What didn't, ma'am?"

She couldn't help the look she pulled at being ma'amed. It made her feel rather old. "The costume. It didn't look so bad in person. Do you have a pen and paper?"

"Pen and paper?" The Metropolis officer gave her an odd look and it only turned weirder when she reached out and snatched his pen and pad from his hands.

"Pencil would have been better, actually," she muttered. A snowless night would have helped as well. There was snow melting on the small pad, making it damp and nearly unusable. "Just need to change the whole underwear on the outside thing. That's a bit tacky, don't you think?" Christina glanced up at the officer, but it didn't seem like he had an opinion to offer on the matter.

He gave an exasperated sigh. "Whose costume, ma'am?"

"Superman's."

"Superman was there?" he asked.

Christina nodded as she continued her quick sketch of the costume. She was a firm believer of keeping one's underwear underneath their clothing and for Superman that really needed fixing. "For a while, just towards the end. It was after the Joker got away; Superman rounded up all the others. The men in the masks. He got them all."

"How did he get away?"

She turned the sketch pad so that the officer could see the finished redesign. A simple spandex outfit and cape with a lack of extra fabric around the midsection. "Spandex doesn't really agree with anyone, but underwear makes everything worse. And even that's forgetting the fact that it's bright bloody red."

"Ma'am, if we could we get back to the point…"

\--

It wasn't a fight of epic proportions. They'd had worse. Their fight at the docks came to mind, but he quickly pushed it away. They were two entirely different situations. Different places, different weapons, different innocent bystanders… the fact that there _were_ innocent bystanders. There was room to work with here, enough room to move around, yet keep the fight contained.

He referred to it in his mind as 'the Clown problem'. It was a problem which he was admittedly having a hard time figuring out how to ultimately solve. How many times had one of their fights ended with the Joker en route back to Arkham? How many times had he escaped? There was a permanent solution, just as there was with all of the thugs he faced on a nightly basis, but the Joker was the only one who actually drove him to _that_ point. He would never do it, of course, but at times like this he wondered if it wouldn't just be easier.

"It's better this way."

"Don't touch me."

Both men stood in silence for a moment, strong jaws tilted down and dark eyes directed towards a crumbling hole in the side of the building, just feet above the floor; the lasting effects of two sets of explosives which Batman hadn't noticed and Superman had been unable to reach in time. Speed meant nothing if you didn't know what you were meant to speed to.

With all that speed, Batman was of the opinion that he could have removed his hand from his arm a good deal faster than he did.

"It's better this way," the other hero repeated. He floated just above the cement roof of the building, arms now crossed at his chest. "You can't kill him."

"I can't keep him in Arkham either. So tell me, what's the better solution?" Batman didn't look up. His eyes stayed focused on the point of explosion. The Clown was long gone, having run past the line of officers and firing aimlessly into the crowd before jumping into a car driven by the only one of his thugs who'd managed to escape. Superman had, at least, taken care of the rest of the masked men. They were crumbled in the corner, tied up in a rather comical way with a piece of rope and a bent and melded metal table leg; a binding which only the red and blue clad hero could fashion.

Superman was silent for a moment before speaking. "This was the better solution."

"Letting him get away?"

"Better than killing someone in my city," he answered in a very matter-of-fact tone. It grated on Batman's nerves just about as much as the Joker's laugh. "It's not as if it's over. There's going to be a night-long manhunt for him, and since you broke every bone in his upper body, he's probably not going to get far."

Batman looked away from the hole in the wall and down to his hand. A sliver of gold chain eked out a space between his fingers. "He's in a car."

"That's never stopped you before," Superman muttered.

He squeezed the gold chain tightly in his hand, unable to feel the bite of the cross' edges beneath the thick rubber of his glove. But he knew it was there. "She's going to want this back."

"Who?"

But Superman made the mistake so many had made and so few had learned from. He'd turned his back and by the time he turned to look again, super-speed and all, Batman had vanished.

 **IV.**  
Well, she'd been right. Just a little bit of heat and her glasses steamed right up. Betty could only squint as she removed them from her face and wiped them on her dress with one hand as she balanced a Styrofoam cup of hot chocolate in the other. She could barely see a thing as she went about it, but at least it was warm now.

It was like the Metropolis PD had dealt with this before. Betty was sure they had. Though everything had been in relative disarray in the beginning, things had started to calm down in a slow but steady pattern. Ambulances circled just beyond the yellow police tape surrounding the damaged building. For those who didn't need hospitalization, but did need to be looked over, a large and heated white tent had been set up in near record time. A few nurses and paramedics mulled around inside, but mostly there were people like Betty and Justin Suarez who flitted around worrying about those members of their parties who'd been hurt in the attacks,

"Mom, they told you to lie down!" Justin said with an exasperated sigh.

"And they said it wasn't a concussion," was Hilda's immediate response as she continued to sit up on the small cot she'd been resting upon. She looked at Betty. "Where's Christina?"

"They're still talking to her outside." Betty held her glasses up and looked at them carefully before putting them back over her nose. They were streaked, but at least she could see now. "Are you alright?"

Hilda rolled her eyes. "Will you stop asking me that?"

"No," she answered, pursing her lips and staring at her sister. She handed Hilda the cup of hot chocolate and rubbed at the bare spot just above her chest. "Not until I hear the doctors say you are."

Hilda sighed again and took the offered hot chocolate. It occurred to Betty that she wasn't sure if Hilda was supposed to be drinking or eating anything, but she certainly wasn't going to try and wretch the cup from her hands. She wasn't that crazy.

" _Oh my God_!"

Both Betty and Hilda very nearly jumped to attention, Hilda just about falling off of the cot and tripping over her dress and heels when she attempted to right herself. The hot chocolate tipped over and spilled out onto the tarp floor, luckily just missing the hems of both of their dresses. Betty jumped back to avoid the spill before reaching down to help her sister up. She looked at Justin as she pulled on Hilda's hand. "What?"

"It's Bruce Wayne!" Justin said, not bothering at all to control the level of his voice or his obviously pointed finger.

Betty guided Hilda back onto the cot before turning to stare small flap opening in the tent. It seemed she wasn't the only one. Bruce tended to cause a commotion anywhere he went, even if it a simple entrance into a simple and unobtrusive tent whose occupants certainly had more to concentrate on than a handsome man.

Handsome? Now where had that come from?

She shook her head quickly and glanced back up, somewhat surprised to see Bruce headed in her direction. It didn't take more than a quick look at Justin bouncing excitedly on his heels to aid in her decision to meet the older man half way. Sometimes it was simply best to run interference when it came to her family. Especially the excitable teens.

She'd not admit it later, but she couldn't help but wonder where the Batsuit had disappeared to and exactly how his designer suit looked as if it was fresh from the cleaners even though she _knew_ that it had to have been removed and tossed somewhere within the past ninety minutes. The mysteries that were Bruce Wayne seemed to be never ending at times and, somehow, the being Batman thing just didn't explain them all.

On nights like this though -- with snow melting in his slightly mussed hair as he walked over to greet her with the absolute slightest of limps – the whole dark and mysterious label really did suit him.

"Are you alright?"

"She was right. That really is an annoying question." Betty looked Bruce up and down, trying to see if she could spot the source of the staggered step. But, as usual, whatever it was, he'd hidden it well. "What about you?"

"I got out," he said simply.

"What about–"

Bruce shook his head. "Later." He reached down into the suit pocket and Betty thought she detected the slightest of winces when he completely extended his elbow. It was a room filled with doctors and she couldn't even get him a pack of ice for fear of giving something away.

She sighed. "You should get home. Alfred's probably boiling hot compresses as we speak."

"I'm going to see Selina home first," he said, and Betty couldn't help but smile slightly. Amanda had bolted into the first limo service out of Metropolis about an hour ago.

"Is she alright?" The annoying question of the evening had to be asked.

"She's fine." He pulled his hand from his pocket and dangling from his fingers was a familiar shimmering of gold. Betty couldn't help her slightly slack-jawed look when she finally got a good look and realized what it was. The small cross stood out like a beacon falling just below his pale hand, but even still she had to look twice. "I think this is yours?"

Had he gone and rescued all the girls' jewelry, or was she just special? Thankfully, Betty managed to keep that particular thought to herself. "Thank you!" She exclaimed instead. "It's was mom's and I… how did you–"

"I found it in the snow," Bruce said pointedly. He stopped her when she reached out to take it from him. "I'll have it fixed for you by Monday."

Betty smiled. "Thank you." He nodded, taking the thanks in stride as he usually did, as if it was little to remark about. Bruce was simply one of those people, though maybe not many knew it. He didn't do these things for the recognition and thanks. He just… did them. It was the right thing to do, so he did it.

Betty canted her head slightly as she looked at him. As much time as she spent considering the mysteries that were Bruce Wayne, sometimes she did consider that the mysteries weren't really important when it came to figuring the man out. The core was all you needed, really, to know what he was about. He did things because they were right.

She had to look away before her smile became too sappy and too infused with feelings that could only have been brought about by the extreme events of the evening. Stress. It was stress that had her looking like this. And who could blame her? She'd looked into the eyes of madman with a permanent smile carved into his face. Betty felt perfectly justified in blaming any and all odd looks or feelings on the clown running free through Gotham and Metropolis.

"...around to the front."

"What? I'm sorry…" Betty ran a hand through her hair, realizing she'd been so lost in thought that she'd missed just about everything he'd said.

"I said Alfred's going to bring the car around, if your sister's ready and the police have finished with Christina," Bruce repeated.

"Oh… thanks. What about you and Selina?"

"We'll manage." He shrugged slightly and upon noticing a slight wince once more, Betty hoped that he really could manage. Gotham was a ways away, and she hadn't seen any sign of that awesome looking car from the Cave.

"Do you need anything else before I tell Hilda and Christina?" A splint, a brace? An ace bandage? Betty did her best keeping those suggestions to herself.

He gave a slow shake of his head and slipped a hand casually into his pocket. "No. Take the weekend. This was… more than you signed on for.

"I think of it as a more advanced form of scouring the city for lost underwear." Her smile turned crooked as she looked at him. She could see a taint of guilt spreading through his features.

"It only gets worse from here and I don't–" He stopped himself, seemingly picking and choosing his words carefully and eventually ending with simplicity. "We'll talk on Monday."

Betty nodded. She reached out tentatively to touch his arm, almost thinking better of it, but finally letting her hand rest there as she smiled. "I'll be there."

 _This_ was her job.


End file.
